Latent Reckoning
by 3rdgal
Summary: Don has been receiving death threats, but doesn't want Charlie's help. Will Charlie help anyway, and will he be able to save his brother? Complete as of 050106.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters and I don't make any money off of them.

**A/N:** I'd like to thank my wonderful, tireless beta and part time muse, ritt, for all of her help. Thanks to Z for helping me with the locations around LA and southern California.

Latent Reckoning by 3rdgal

**Chapter 1**

"How're you holding up?"

Don looked up from the kitchen sink at his brother. "Well enough."

"Any word on when you'll get a new apartment?"

Don shrugged. "No vacancies right now. I may have to wait for them to repair my old one." He turned his attention back to washing the dishes.

Charlie watched him as he methodically scrubbed every one before rinsing it and placing it into the drainer. Such a simple, mundane chore, and yet he was relieved to be able to watch Don doing it. He knew that he'd come very close to losing his brother tonight. _If that explosion had happened a few minutes earlier..._ Thankfully it hadn't, and Don had been safely getting into his car when his apartment had burst into flames. Don had shown up at Charlie's house, giving a brief explanation of the night's events and assuring them both that he was fine, before requesting to stay over. Their father had bought Don's story that the explosion, although being looked into, was almost certainly accidental. Charlie knew better though, based on the information Megan had let slip earlier that day. _Might as well address it now,_ he thought to himself. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Don cast him a glance, as he scrubbed a particularly dirty pot.

"About the letters."

At this Don did look up, and Charlie saw the blazing anger in his eyes. "Who the hell told you about those?"

"I have top security clearance, remember? Although I would like to think you would have told me yourself."

"I didn't – I _don't_ – want you getting involved, and I don't want Dad to worry. Wait – you didn't tell him, did you?" Charlie shook his head and Don nodded as he returned his attention to the sink full of dishes. "Charlie, these things happen from time to time, and they usually turn out to be bogus."

"You're brushing off a series of death threats because they _might_ be bogus?" Charlie asked incredulously.

"I'm not brushing them off," Don countered. "The letters are at the crime lab being analyzed and there's a team looking into them. But Charlie, I can't stop living my life because someone says they want to kill me."

"And the explosion at your apartment?" he demanded. "You think that's just a coincidence? Don, wake up – someone _is_ trying to kill you!"

"There's no proof the explosion was set, and the letters never mentioned a bomb, so we're treating it like an accident until we get more information."

"I should go down there and lend them a hand."

"No!" Don looked up at Charlie, who caught a brief glimmer of fear in his eyes. "I told you – I don't want you involved!"

"But I can help," Charlie argued. "I can create a Bayesian Filter like I did on that case with the judge. Maybe help narrow down suspects from the list of people you've arrested."

"No," Don repeated firmly. "I do not want you involved in this case. Do you understand?"

"Honestly? No. You're my brother and if I can help stop these threats, then I will." Charlie met his steely gaze and then gently questioned, "Don't these threats bother you?"

Don sighed. "Of course they do, Charlie, but I don't let them affect me - I can't if I expect to do my job." He gave up on the dishes and dried his hands before grabbing a beer out of the fridge. He took a deep swallow and turned to face Charlie. "You know what does affect me? The thought of you or Dad being hurt, and I'm afraid that would be a real possibility if you work on this case."

"But I want to help," Charlie insisted, trying for all the world to sound like a grown man instead of a frightened little brother.

"Please, Charlie, for once just do what I ask you to," Don pleaded. Seeing the conviction in his eyes, he added, "I can have your clearance temporarily suspended if need be." They both knew it was a hollow threat, given Charlie's close relationship with NSA Director Thompkins, but Don was desperate.

"You do what you need to," Charlie said as he turned to leave the kitchen. Glancing back over his shoulder, he added, "But I'm going to work on this case." He left the room, missing the terrified expression that crossed Don's face.

Don angrily threw his beer bottle in the trash. Why couldn't Charlie ever listen to him? Don knew his job was dangerous, but he accepted the risks – it was part of being an agent. As he'd once told Colby though, that didn't make it open season on their families. He wouldn't even be at Charlie's house right now, except that he'd had nowhere else to spend the night on such short notice. He knew he would never be able to live with himself if he put his family in harm's way, so he wracked his brain, trying to think of a way to protect them. He finally thought of something – drastic and unpleasant – but he knew it would work. He switched off the light in the kitchen and made his way upstairs to his room, where he would spend the next few hours mapping out his idea.


	2. Chapter 2

"You're what?" Megan asked, certain she'd heard wrong.

"Keep your voice down," Don chastised her. "It's the only way to make sure my family is safe."

"A transfer? That's a little drastic. You haven't even given us time to work on the origin of the letters or the cause of the blast."

"I know," Don sighed. "But Charlie's on this mission to help with the case." He looked his colleague in the eye. "I can't let him put himself in danger, Megan. This is the only way I know to stop him."

"Even if you transfer, you know he'll still work on the threats."

"Yeah, but if I'm not around anymore, then whoever has been making them should lose interest. Maybe even follow me away from LA."

"Don-"

"You have a better idea? I'm open to suggestions."

"Then don't turn in your request yet. Give me a few days to work on the case myself. I'll talk to Charlie, too – try to convince him to leave it alone."

"He's a little stubborn," Don snorted.

"Yeah?" she asked sarcastically. "I wonder where he gets that from."

Don cracked a smile for the first time in days. "Alright," he relented. I'll give you through the weekend – provided you get Charlie to drop the case."

"Thank you." She started to walk away, but turned back to face him. "Have you got someplace to stay now?"

Don frowned and rubbed a hand over his face. "The Bureau's got me a room at a motel under an alias. They've also got a pair of agents doing guard duty until we figure this thing out." He saw her look of concern start to fade. "I'll be fine, Megan. You just worry about Charlie."

As Megan left, Don fingered the transfer request and then put it in his desk drawer. He hoped the threats did turn out to be harmless, but he hoped even more that Megan would be able to make Charlie listen to reason.

--

"Knock, knock," Megan called from the doorway of Charlie's office.

"Megan," Larry greeted her warmly. "What a lovely surprise. To what do we owe this honor?"

Charlie grinned. "Is this a professional visit or do I need to leave you two alone?"

"Actually, Charlie, I came to see you." She turned to Larry and flashed a dazzling smile. "It's work related."

"Perhaps I could be of some assistance, as well?"

Megan shook her head. "Sorry, but it's kind of a private matter."

"Well then, I shall take my leave." He nodded at Charlie, then smiled at Megan before leaving and pulling the door shut behind him.

"Is this about what I think it is?" Charlie's tone had changed from pleasant to frustrated, as he realized why she must have come. "Don sent you, right?"

"Not exactly." At Charlie's confused expression, she elaborated, "This visit is my idea, but it was because of something Don tried to do." She saw that she still wasn't getting through. "Charlie, Don was going to put in for a transfer today."

"He what?" Charlie asked, certain he'd misunderstood her.

"He's concerned for your safety – that's why he asked you not to work on this case." She paused to let the words sink in, and quickly realized they hadn't. "Charlie, he's willing to sacrifice his life here – give up his job, his friends, and his family to protect you. He doesn't want to, but he feels it's the only choice he has if you keep pursuing this."

"He's my brother! Am I supposed to just sit around, twiddling my thumbs, while I wait for the FBI to figure out who's behind the threats? Megan, I can help you narrow down the list of suspects. And once I get into the files, I might be able to do even more than that." He dropped his gaze to his desk top and whispered, "Why can't he understand that I want – need – to help him?"

Megan placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Probably for the same reason that you can't understand why he needs you not to help." Charlie looked up at her, and she saw the anxiety in his brown eyes. "You have to make a decision, Charlie. Which do you want more – to let us do our job and have your brother stay here, or consult on the case and drive him away, possibly for good?"

"Neither," Charlie sighed. His face lit up as an idea formed in his head. "What if I consult, but not officially?"

"What?" Megan asked hesitantly, afraid of what was coming.

"I don't need to go to the office, and Don is staying at the motel. You could get me all the data I need – just drop it by my office."

"No, Charlie. If I did that Don would – well, I'd be transferred somewhere isolated and very cold."

"But you'd be bringing the data straight to me. Don would never have to know." He saw a flicker of indecision on her face. "You know my calculations can cut down on your workload, which cuts down on the time needed to identify your most likely suspects." He saw another flicker and moved in for the kill. "The sooner we find this person, the sooner Don will be safe."

Megan rubbed her forehead. _I've had a nice run as an agent,_ she thought wryly. "Alright, Charlie. This is our little secret though, we don't tell anyone else for any reason. Deal?"

Charlie nodded eagerly. "Let's see, I'll need copies of the letters, case files on anyone that Don has helped send to prison for the past... When did the threats first start?"

"Two weeks ago."

Charlie gaped at her in shock. "Two _weeks_? He's been living with this for two weeks? And you _still_ don't have any leads?" He angrily shook his head. "Whatever. Okay, I need all the case files for anyone released in the last six weeks, in case they took time to plan these threats. I also need all of the up to date information on the explosion at his apartment. That will give me a good start, but I may find that I need more as I get further into it."

"I'll start gathering it, but it'll be tomorrow before I get it to you."

Charlie nodded. "Hey, Megan, do you think I could see Don tonight?"

She saw the look on his face and realized he needed to see for himself that Don was okay, and hadn't gone ahead with the transfer. "Sure, Charlie. I'll have David pick you up and take you there."

She saw the tension leave his body as relief washed over him. "Thanks."

--

Charlie nervously glanced over his shoulder as he stood in front of his brother's motel room. He didn't see anything suspicious, but then David _had_ used evasive driving maneuvers in case they were being followed. He didn't see any agents watching the area either and that concerned him. He turned back and was raising his hand to knock when the door opened.

"I was beginning to think you were going to stay out here all night," Don said as he left the door open and plopped down on his bed.

Charlie stood in shock for a moment before closing and locking the door and taking a seat at the small desk area. "Aren't there supposed to be agents out there?"

"There are," Don answered, his eyes never leaving the TV in front of him.

Charlie peeked around the curtain and scanned the lot. "I don't see them."

"If you could then they wouldn't be doing their job." Don fell silent again as he concentrated on the Dodgers game. He wasn't sure how to feel about Charlie showing up tonight. Megan had given him a heads up and he'd bitten back his protests, knowing his brother would come no matter what he'd said.

"Are they winning?"

Don laughed softly. Charlie must be uncertain of his feelings as well if he was inquiring about the game. "Do they ever?" At the lingering silence, Don glanced over at him – sitting and staring down at the desk top, lightly tracing the patterns in the wood finish. _He looks so scared,_ Don thought. _And it's because of me. Some older brother I am._ "So why'd you come over?"

Charlie looked up, startled by the question. "To visit, I guess. I thought – I thought maybe you'd want some company." He forced a smile on his face. "You get stir-crazy sometimes. I figured it would be worse with you being away from your apartment, and in some boring motel room."

"You're right about that," Don said as he laughed at the baffled expression on Charlie's face. "What?"

"I thought you'd be mad at me for showing up."

"I should be," he told him as his laughter died away. "But I know how stubborn you are. Actually, this is probably the safest place you could be right now – in some unknown motel, being guarded by the FBI." Don turned the TV off in disgust. "They can't ever win a game." He got up and fetched a phone book from the nightstand. "How about we order a pizza?"

Charlie nodded eagerly. "My treat."

"I don't think so, bro. The FBI is picking up the tab on this one." He picked up the phone and grinned mischievously. "Extra anchovies, right?"

"You wouldn't!"

"Relax! I'm not _that_ mean. I'll just get them on my half. Do you still like pineapple on yours?"

"Please."

"Okay," Don said as he picked up the phone. "Half anchovies and half pineapple it is."

"I thought you liked pineapple, too."

"On pizza? I can't stand it."

"But we've always gotten pineapple on it, ever since we were kids."

"And I've always picked it off," Don replied.

"Why didn't you ever say something? I could have gone without it." Charlie paused before muttering, "But then, you don't like speaking up about things, do you?"

"Charlie," Don growled in warning. "Let's not go there, okay? Let's just have a pleasant dinner and a nice visit."

An hour and a half later found an empty pizza box on the desk, Don flopped across the bed, and Charlie slouched in the chair.

"That was good," Charlie yawned as he stretched.

"Except for the pineapple," Don groaned. "I can't believe they put it on the whole pizza! Fish and fruit isn't my thing."

Charlie chuckled as he remembered Don's face after the first bite. His thoughts grew serious as he sat up straight and studied his brother's relaxed form. "Don?"

"Mmm?"

Charlie rose and moved to perch on the side of the bed. He steeled his nerves, and put on his best poker face. "I talked with Megan."

Don cracked an eye open and regarded him. "And?"

"She made some good points about my involvement in the case." Charlie forced himself to maintain eye contact, and tried not too blink too much or too little. _Lying never did come naturally to me,_ he thought. "I took her advice – I'm not going to consult on the case."

Don opened both his eyes and propped up on his elbow, studying the look on Charlie's face. "Really?" he prodded.

"I understand how you feel, and the potential danger involved." Charlie took a deep breath. "Can I ask you a favor in return, though?" Don nodded. "Will you please keep me updated on the status of the investigation? That won't put me in any danger, and I'll feel better knowing that you're not hiding anything important from me." At Don's hesitant look, he added, "Please, Don. It would mean a lot to me."

"Alright, Charlie," Don reluctantly agreed. "I think I can manage that, as long as you aren't working on the case." Don saw a flicker of _something_ on Charlie's face so he added, "You promised not to work on the case, right?"

"I told you I wasn't," Charlie said evasively. He didn't think he could actually say 'I promise' and be the least bit convincing. He hoped Don would leave it at that.

They held each other's gazes until Don finally looked away. "Alright, Charlie." He glanced at his watch and rolled his eyes. "How did it get to be this late? I have to be at work tomorrow."

"You're still working?"

"Yes," Don sighed. "Mostly in the office – they've limited my field work for now, so you don't have anything to worry about." He picked up the phone and called an agent to come pick Charlie up. About ten minutes later Don was ushering Charlie out of his room.

"Remember our agreement, Don."

"You too, Buddy." Charlie nodded and climbed into the car, waving good-bye as they drove away. Don closed the door and leaned against it, looking upward at the ceiling. He was pretty sure Charlie was lying to him, but only time would tell.


	3. Chapter 3

"Megan!" Larry called out happily as the agent appeared in the door of Charlie's classroom. "Visiting again so soon?"

"Hi, Larry." She smiled and cast a quick look in Charlie's direction. "Business again, I'm afraid."

Larry's smile faltered for a second. "Private matters this time as well?"

Megan blushed a deep red and nodded. "I'm sorry, Larry."

"If I didn't know you two better..." he trailed off, trying to keep his tone as light as possible.

"Larry," Charlie cut in. "I promise you this is related to a case – a very important case. You have to trust me."

Larry waved his hand dismissively. "Of course I trust you, Charles. I was allowing my shallower side to rear its ugly head." He offered an rueful smile to Megan. "My apologies. Perhaps once this is over I could take you out for dinner? My attempt to make up for my behavior."

"You have nothing to make up for, but I'd still love dinner." She winked. "I have your number and I'll call you the second we're through."

His face lit up with delight. "Alright then. I shall leave you to your case." He left the room, shutting the door behind him. No sooner had the door closed than Charlie was practically lunging across his desk, his outstretched hands grasping at the files in her arms. She allowed him to grab them and watched as he quickly retrieved the letters from inside the file folder. "Charlie, some of those are a bit intense."

He waved her off and began reading. The first one was simple enough: 'Ready to die, Agent Eppes? Grim Reaper.' The second was a bit longer: 'Saw you last night. You jumped quite a bit when that car went screeching down the street. That driver barely missed you. I wonder if he had really good reflexes, or if maybe he did exactly what he was trying to do? Grim Reaper.'

"What?" Charlie demanded. "Is he serious – he actually tried to run Don down?"

"There was an incident with a car when we were in the field. It wasn't really that close, but then we got the letter. Could be whoever is making the threats saw the incident and decided to use it in his favor."

"Is there a report on the car in the file?"

"It really wasn't that close to hitting Don, so we didn't worry about any kind of official report. I did insert a list of notes I made, including color, make, and model. I didn't catch the plate number." She paused for a moment. "Wait a second, Charlie - why do you say 'he'? Couldn't it have been a 'she'?"

"Huh?" Charlie looked up. "Oh, right, yeah." He rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the tension he felt building. Of course it could be a woman - he couldn't believe he had just made an assumption of that magnitude. It spoke volumes as to how important this case was to him, to be so easily distracted. He tried to clear the emotion from his mind, but it quickly returned as he read the next threat: 'Have you started checking over your shoulder? The time is near. I'm going to enjoy watching you die... slow and painful, bit by bit. How loud do you think you can scream? I bet I can make it louder. Grim Reaper.'He felt his stomach churn and he fought the urge to panic. _I have to be detached,_ he reminded himself. He set the first three letters down and studied the fourth and final one: 'Okay, Donny-boy, I'm growing tired of this game. It's time for you to die and you'll be feeling my wrath very soon. Go ahead and say your good-byes to that annoying brother and father of yours. Count your blessings that I don't want a pound of their flesh, too. Grim Reaper.'

Charlie dropped the letter onto his desk top and covered his face with his hands. _No wonder Don was so insistent that I not get involved._ He took a few deep breaths and regained his composure before facing Megan. "This is all of them?" She nodded. "Do you still have the original envelopes?"

"They're in the file, too." She reached out and placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. "Are you sure you can handle this?"

"He's my brother," Charlie's voice cracked as he spoke. "I have to help him." He slowly opened the folder and pulled out the evidence bag that contained the envelopes. "I should be able to use the postmarks to help narrow down a location. Was there anything significant about the envelopes or the papers themselves?"

"No. The forensics report is in there, too, if you want to look it over."

"The evidence and crime scene report from Don's apartment?"

"It's in there, also. I got everything you told me to, Charlie." She glanced at her watch and frowned. "I have to go – I have a meeting with Don in an hour. Keep me updated Charlie, but be discreet about it."

"I will." Megan turned to leave, but Charlie quickly stopped her. "Megan! Thank you for doing this. I don't know if you really understand how important this is or how much your help means to me."

She smiled and chuckled. "I know. But remember how important it is to me, too – I don't want to wind up working in the Anchorage office."

"You won't. I promise."

--

"You're late," Don snapped.

"Sorry," Megan whispered as she slid into a chair. She pointedly ignored the questioning looks coming from David and Colby. _I don't know if I can keep this up, Charlie._

Don took a deep breath and shook his head. "No, I am. I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's just so frustrating to be stuck in the office." He smiled apologetically. "It had to be something important for you to be late. I know that."

Megan swallowed nervously. _Important? Yeah, I thought it was_. Don handed her a report on their latest case as he moved to the screen at the front of the room. Colby tapped her elbow and tilted his head. "Not now," she mouthed at him. He shrugged and turned his attention to Don.

--

Charlie angrily snapped the piece of chalk in his hand. He couldn't believe what the numbers on the board were telling him – not one of the hundreds of cases that Megan had brought him made it through his filter with more than a sixty-eight point seven percent chance of being the Grim Reaper. Had he been too aggressive in setting the parameters? Maybe he should relax them and try the calculations again. Of course he'd already done that twice to get these results. Was he overlooking something again? He ran his fingers through his unruly locks. "Dammit genius, _think_!"

"Charles?" He turned and saw Larry standing in the doorway, a look of concern on his face. "May I be of any assistance?"

"No, Larry," Charlie quickly answered as he slid another blackboard down to cover his work. He had promised to keep his involvement a secret, and knew that meant from Larry, too. "I'm just not on my A game today."

"I'm not surprised."

Charlie whirled around to face his mentor. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's five-fifteen," he replied as he cautiously entered the office. "I haven't seen you leave your office at all today. Did you even stop working long enough to eat?" Charlie's embarrassed look was all the answer he needed. "You need to take a break – step back and get a fresh perspective on..." Larry gestured at the hidden board, "...Whatever problem has you so flummoxed."

He studied the surface of his desk, cluttered with folders of evidence and files on people who probably hated his brother. He wanted to keep pushing himself to single out the guilty party, but he knew Larry was right – he needed to step back, take a break, and re-evaluate his thought processes. "Alright," he agreed reluctantly. "A quick bite of dinner probably would help." He noticed Larry subtly maneuvering closer to his desk top and the open files. He flipped them closed. "Sorry. I can't let you in on this one."

Larry waved his hands in innocence. "Alright, I know when to admit defeat. Whatever you and Megan are working on is _private_." He winced at the bitter emphasis he placed on the last word, and sought to ease the hurt that appeared on his friend's face. "I really do understand, but I want you to know that my offer of help stands, if and when you want it."

"I know, Larry. Thanks." Charlie locked the files and evidence in his desk and followed Larry from the room. He made sure to lock his office door, ignoring the look Larry gave him as he glanced at his watch. "Thirty minutes. That's all I can spare." He paused as Larry started to lead the way to the cafeteria. "And no white food, either!"


	4. Chapter 4

She smiled as she watched her current target leave the grocery store. Patrick Robert Davies, convicted of arson and sent to jail thanks to the hard work and efforts of one Special Agent Don Eppes. She smiled as Davies climbed into his car, oblivious to the pair of eyes that followed his every move. He started the car and left the parking lot, headed for the local movie rental store. She maintained the perfect tail, having thoroughly read up on the subject in several law enforcement books. She pulled into a parking space five cars down from Davies, watching as he walked past the post office and ventured inside the movie store.

Smiling to herself, she picked up the envelope lying on the passenger seat and entered the post office. She patiently waited in line for the next clerk, knowing that Davies liked to take his time browsing the videos next door. She stepped up to the counter and handed the clerk the envelope.

"Oh dear," he commented as he noticed both of her hands were completely swathed in bandages. "That looks painful. What happened to you?"

She gave an easy, relaxed laugh. "I got a little clumsy with a pot of spaghetti. Spilled the darn thing all over my hands."

"I hope they're getting better," the clerk told her as he took her payment and placed her letter in the appropriate mail bin.

"Yes," she assured him. "These bandages will be coming off very soon." _That part's true,_ she thought to herself. She would no longer have to worry about keeping her fingerprints off of any future letters, assuming this last one did its job.

"Glad to hear it." She thanked him as she left the small office. She wasn't surprised to see that Davies' car was still parked where he had left it. She made a point of walking next to it and dropping her keys. She bent over to retrieve them and took a moment to loosen the valve on his tire. Satisfied with her handiwork, she returned to her car and waited patiently. Davies exited the store a few minutes later, movie in hand. He reached his car and frowned as he noticed his back tire was flat. She saw him curse and kick the tire before turning back to the storefronts. Seeing the line inside the video store, he chose instead to go inside the small, less crowded post office.

She smiled, knowing that her plan had worked perfectly. Of course, as her husband had always told her, there was no substitute for thorough research. That's how she knew that Davies' beat up, old Mercury had no spare in the trunk, and that he had not yet acquired a cell phone since his release from prison. Now Davies' face would be the one that the small town postal clerk would be likely to remember when the FBI inevitably showed up, flashing his mug shot and asking questions about letters that he might have mailed here. She beamed with excitement as she turned the key in the ignition and began her long trek back home.

She and her husband would soon have Special Agent Don Eppes in their clutches. Then the fun would really start.

--

"Eppes."

"Don, it's Dad."

"Hey, Dad. What's up?"

"I was calling to check on you." Don heard the concern in his father's voice. "You haven't been by in a few days. No dinner, no just stopping to say hi. You can't be having _that_ much fun at the motel."

Don felt a stirring of guilt in his gut and tried to play it off. "Well there is a pool here and a lot of hot women…"

"So?" Alan interrupted. "It's not like you know how to ask any of them out."

"Dad," Don groaned as he flopped back on his bed. "Let's not have this discussion again. Please?"

"Sorry," Alan half-heartedly mumbled. "Seriously, Don – why haven't you visited? You didn't take on some fugitive recovery case, did you?"

"No, Dad. I promised you I wouldn't go back to that again, remember? But I do have an important case at work and it's been taking up a lot of extra time." He floundered around for a more believable excuse. "Besides, some of the guys from work have been coming over and hanging out." Technically true. There _were_ agents at the motel at all times. "I think they're trying to keep my mind off the fire."

"Have they finished their investigation? Was it an accident?"

Don frowned. Had Charlie been running his mouth to Dad? "The FBI is still looking over the evidence. I don't see any reason to assume that it wasn't an accident." He took a deep breath and tried to quash the growing feelings of guilt. "I'll try to come over for a visit soon. Maybe around the end of the week if this current case goes well."

"Okay," Alan agreed, although the disappointment in his voice was obvious. "You be careful. Call me if you need anything – day or night – alright?"

"Sure," Don replied cheerfully. They said their goodbyes and Don flipped his cell phone shut, tossing it onto the desk. He folded his hands under his head and stared at the stucco pattern on the ceiling. From the feedback he was getting from Megan, he knew that the team investigating the threats hadn't really made any progress. They were still waiting on the results of the blast, but he was pretty sure they were going to rule it an arson. That's why, as hard as it was for him, he wasn't visiting his family. They had already been referenced in one letter, and he wasn't about to make them any more of a target by spending time with them.

With that thought still lingering in his mind, he rolled over, flipped the lamp off, and fell into a restless sleep.

--

Don was sitting at the table, eating dinner with his dad and Charlie. His father had prepared rib-eye and baked potatoes while he and Charlie had playfully argued about the hockey game on TV. Now they were eating and enjoying pleasant dinner conversation. Charlie suddenly dropped his fork and fixed Don with a blank stare.

"What it is, Buddy?"

"I know who's been making the threats."

"What?" Don yelled angrily. "I told you to stay out of it!"

"I had to help." Charlie's voice was monotone and his eyes remained vacant. "But you didn't protect me, Don. Why? All I was trying to do was help. Dad, too."

Don swiveled his gaze to his father, his heart leaping into his throat as he saw the bright red bloodstain spreading across his chest. Alan opened his mouth to speak, but could only gape silently as blood began to trickle from the corner of his mouth. "Dad!" Don rushed toward him, dismayed to find that he seemed to be moving further away.

"Don."

Charlie's quiet voice caught his attention and he whirled to face his brother. He let out a sob as he saw an identical red stain spreading across his chest, and a copious amount of blood running from his mouth. "Charlie!" He tried to run toward his brother, only to find that he too, seemed to be getting farther away.

"What did I tell you, Eppes?" a loud, booming voice demanded. "You let them get involved. Some protector you are!" The voice cackled as Don took turns looking at his father and brother. "You should have just let me have you. Now you've ruined your whole family." Don felt a cold blast of air surround him, followed by an intense, burning pain in his lower back. He felt waves of agony course through his body, setting each and every nerve ending on fire. The voice spoke again, seemingly only inches from his ear, "Time to die, Agent Eppes..."

Don awoke and bolted upright in bed, his hand instantly going for his hip. He momentarily panicked as he grabbed air instead of his gun, but then his surroundings penetrated through his sleep fogged brain. _I'm in the motel. It was just a dream. They're okay._ He still felt an overwhelming desire to call them and check, but as he glanced at the time – three-thirty am – he decided that might not be the best idea. He got out of bed and stumbled his way to the bathroom sink, not bothering to turn on any lights as he went. He ran the tap and splashed cold water on his face, enjoying the increase in alertness that accompanied it. He toweled his face off and returned to bed, turning on the TV as he passed it. There was an infomercial on, with a perky red-headed housewife babbling on about the amazing bread making machine. He muted the TV as he leaned against the headboard. He had no desire to watch the screen, but rather wanted the comforting presence of the flickering light as it filled the room.

He knew sleep was out of the question, so instead he thought back to the day he'd received the first threat.

_Don sat at his desk, surrounded by his team, as they outlined the plan of attack for an upcoming raid on a suspected child pornography ring. Colby was mostly running the show, his military experience a big help in situations like this. Don glanced up as a mail clerk paused by his desk and handed him a letter addressed to him, with no return address. Seeing that his team was doing fine without his input, he opened the envelope and pulled out a neatly folded sheet of white paper. He unfolded it and was surprised to find it blank, save for a question and a name: 'Ready to die, Agent Eppes? Grim Reaper.' He stared at the letter, his mind in shock, as he read and re-read the words. A death threat? Sure, he'd gotten plenty of those before, but they had always been so elaborate and detailed. He actually felt more nervous about this one because of its simplicity. _

_He didn't know how long he'd been staring at the letter, but he eventually sensed Megan's presence by his side, and felt the worried gazes of his other two team members on him. He looked up and saw her staring at the letter. She didn't speak as she gently took it from his grasp and placed it into an evidence bag. Before he could gather his senses enough to speak, she was already on the phone, requesting a forensic technician come retrieve the letter. He smiled warmly at her as she hung up and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry," she soothed him. "We're on this." He nodded a silent thanks, quickly brushing off any suggestion at protective custody, assuring his team that it was probably a hoax._

Don's thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of the cheap alarm clock on the nightstand. He quickly silenced it and made his way to the shower, grateful that at least he wouldn't be in the field today because the lack of sleep and impact of the threats were starting to take their toll on him.


	5. Chapter 5

"Any luck?"

Charlie looked up from his chalkboard as Megan entered his office. "Nothing of any more significance. I've lowered the parameters again, but if I lower them anymore the results will no longer be meaningful." He gave her a hopeful look. "I don't suppose you have any new data for me?"

"Sorry. The lab says they should have the results from the explosion by the end of tomorrow. I'll get them to you as soon as I have them." She wearily sank onto the corner of Charlie's desk. "This is getting very difficult. I'm having to run non-stop to get you what you need and still perform my other duties without arousing suspicion."

"I know. Dad keeps asking me why I'm working so late, and if I know why Don hasn't come over recently. I know he suspects something, but he hasn't tried to call me on it yet." He turned to the board and tapped his chalk against it as he ran the numbers through his head for the millionth time. "I've got to be missing something." His eyes widened as a thought formed in his head. "What if..." He turned to Megan, his eyes lit up with excitement. "What if it's not someone from one of Don's old cases? What is he working on right now?"

"Not much at all. His field time is limited, so he's mainly been catching up on reports from recent closed cases. I can't think of any that would lead to death threats."

"Still, if I could just run them through the filter, too – you never know."

"Alright," Megan relented. "I'll see if I can get you a copy of those." She looked at her watch and wearily stood. "Don's expecting me in a couple of hours. I'll check in with you tomorrow, okay?"

Charlie nodded and Megan left him alone, staring at the blackboard with such a look of helplessness that it broke her heart.

--

"You missed dinner."

Charlie ducked his head as he recognized the hurt in his father's voice. "Sorry, Dad. I have this project-"

"So you've been saying," Alan tersely cut him off. "I don't know what kind of mess you and your brother have gotten yourselves into, but I've had just about enough of it."

Charlie let his father continue to vent as he thumbed through the mail. A sales flyer, the power bill, and... a nondescript white envelope addressed to Don. "Dad."

Alan paused, shocked that his youngest son had the nerve to interrupt him mid-lecture. "What?" he snapped.

"This letter to Don – when did you get it?"

"It came today. Odd that Don would use your address for any of his mail."

Charlie's stomach plummeted as he realized what he was holding. He walked to the couch in a trance, oblivious to his father's concern filled voice asking him what was wrong. Charlie knew he _shouldn't_ open the letter, knew that there could be evidence in this one, knew that there were procedures and protocols to be followed, but also knew he could never live with himself if he _didn't_ open it. His shaking fingers managed to unseal the flap and he pulled out a single piece of neatly folded, white paper. He steeled himself and unfolded the letter, finding three sentences and the dreaded name: 'Close one at the apartment – I waited on purpose. I didn't want you dead yet, just scared. Did it work? Grim Reaper' Charlie felt tears forming in his eyes. So the threats weren't a hoax – someone really was trying to kill Don.

He wasn't aware that Alan had moved to his side until the letter was pulled from his hand. "No! Dad, wait-"

"What in the hell is this?" Alan demanded in a voice filled with both sadness and anger. "_This_ was addressed to your brother?"

"Dad be careful – there may be evidence-"

"Answer my question this minute, Charles Edward Eppes!"

He cringed at the use of his full name, and cursed himself for being so careless as to let Alan see it. "I will, Dad. But first we need to call Megan. There could be important forensic evidence on this letter, and the FBI needs to examine it as soon as possible." Seeing that his father seemed to be listening to reason, Charlie pulled out his cell and dialed Megan. "There's been another letter. This one was sent to Don at my address." After Megan assured him she was on her way, he turned his attention back to his father. "You're going to want to sit down for this."

Charlie spent the next twenty minutes describing the letters that Don had received, the FBI's suspicions about their origins, and Don's apparent nonchalance about the whole situation. He felt an enormous sense of guilt overtaking him: for lying to Don about working on the case, for letting his father find out about the threats, and - most importantly- for not identifying the culprit. He had just finished catching Alan up to speed and convincing him a trip to Don's motel room would only worsen the situation when Megan arrived. She gave Charlie a disappointed look as she slipped the envelope and the letter into an evidence bag. "You know better, Charlie."

"I'm sorry." She saw the remorse in his eyes and immediately felt bad about chastising him.

"I understand why you did it, but remember – little things like this can keep guilty people from going to jail."

"I know. It won't happen again." He grabbed her elbow as she turned to leave. "I think I have something. Come to the garage for a minute." He led her to his work area and gestured to a map of southern California that he'd taped onto a board. There were four red pins stuck into the map, at seemingly random positions. "These are the four locations where the previous threats were mailed. I used the information from the postmarks and the date stamp to plot them." He pointed at the bag. "This one was mailed from California City." He pushed another red pin into the board. Now the previous random pattern of four pins became significant – forming a jagged line from the heart of Los Angeles to Sylmar, then Santa Clarita, then Lancaster, and ending in California City.

"He – or she – is moving further away from the city as the threats escalate."

"My thoughts exactly." He smiled. "I can run my analysis again, using these cities as significant factors for involvement. It should only take a couple of hours." He grimaced and hid his face behind the nearest chalkboard. "Um, Don didn't want Dad to know about this."

Megan sighed. The Eppes family better make her their honorary sister and daughter after everything she was doing for them. "No problem, Charlie. I'll talk to him."

--

"Another letter?" Megan nodded at Colby who was leaned against her desk. "What'd Don say?"

"You know how he is." Megan thought for a minute, recalling the distracted look and worry lines she'd noticed on Don's face when she'd told him the latest news. "Although I think this one shook him up a bit."

"Is he going into full time protective custody?"

"No, just an escort to and from work and the agents on the room at night." She looked at Don's current case files on her desk – the ones she'd shown Charlie earlier that day. "We have to catch this s.o.b, and soon. It's starting to take its toll on the whole family."

"If the lab would hurry up and get those results-" Colby was cut off as Megan's cell phone rang.

"Speak of the devil," she muttered as she flipped it open. "Reeves. Uh huh. Really? Can you fax them to me? No, not tomorrow – today! This is urgent. Thank you." She stood as she hung up, and walked to the fax machine. "It wasn't an accident."

"Damn," Colby swore as he followed her.

"It was detonated by remote, and they have a complete chemical breakdown of the bomb's composition. They're running the particulars through their database, trying to identify a suspect."

"How long?"

She shrugged as she impatiently drummed her fingers on the fax machine. "They couldn't give me an estimate." She sighed and glanced around to make sure Don wasn't nearby. "But I know someone who can help."

--

"Charlie!"

Startled, he whipped around at the sound of his name, dropping his chalk to the floor. "Megan? What? Is there any..." He trailed off as he saw Colby. "What's up?"

"He knows, Charlie. He was there when I got the latest news." She handed him a file with the forensics report on the bomb. Charlie paled as he rapidly scanned it, every word sinking into his brain.

"Oh no," he breathed, sinking into his chair. "Where's Don? Is he still okay?"

"He's fine, Charlie. Stubborn and mule headed, but fine." She walked to his board and looked at numbers cascading from top to bottom in a language she didn't even pretend to understand. "Can you run another Bayesian Filter? With the new data?"

"Yes, of course." He rose and went to the board, grabbing the eraser and altering pieces of the equation. "It's going to take a few hours, though."

"What about the results of the last analysis?"

"Nobody was statistically significant. The highest probabilities were in the upper sixty percent range, and that was with the parameters set at an incredibly low end range."

"I understand, Charlie," Megan countered. "But if the suspect was in the files I gave you, there's a chance he scored in the sixtieth percentile, right?"

Charlie looked doubtful, but dug through the piled of paper on his desk until he came to the list of results. He handed them over. "Sixty percent or less with the variables set at the low end isn't a significant result," he reminded her.

She read the list as she replied, "Just because he or she scores low, doesn't mean he or she didn't do it."

"Makes sense to me," Colby added. "It's a percentage – a likelihood. If I were to hit you right now - without provocation - I would score low through an analysis like this, right? Doesn't mean I didn't do it."

"I understand what you're saying, but I just don't... _feel_ it." At their confused looks, he suggested, "Mathematician's Instinct?"

Colby opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Megan. "Here it is! Patrick Robert Davies – convicted and sentenced to prison for arson. He was caught when he escalated from setting warehouse fires, including an FBI storage facility, to detonating a bomb in a new subdivision." She scanned the report. "He was convicted on only one count and sentenced to thirty-three months. He received time off for good behavior," she snorted, "And was released three weeks ago." She kept reading. "Davies was also reported to have threatened one Special Agent Don Eppes in the hallway outside the courtroom." She looked up. "I think this could be our guy, Charlie."

Colby had taken Davies' file from her and was reading it. "Looks like the bomb composition he used was the same as the one in Don's apartment. And he set the explosion three years ago using a remote detonator." He looked at Megan. "I think we should get the lab to take a look at this file."

"Right," she nodded. "And let's see if we can track down his whereabouts since his release." She followed Colby to the door, pausing to glance back at Charlie. "Can you still run the new filter? I'd love to have more to support our argument when obtaining the search warrant."

"Sure," Charlie agreed. He continued staring at the doorway long after she'd disappeared. Davies did seem like the perfect suspect, and yet his gut was screaming at him that they were closing in on the wrong man.


	6. Chapter 6

Don finished filling out his last report and triumphantly filed it away. He couldn't believe he'd actually caught up on all of his paperwork for the last two weeks. Now that he was done, he desperately wanted to get back out into the field and back to his old life. He sat back down at his desk and idly played with the Rubik's cube Charlie had left there during a prior visit. He thought about Charlie, and wondered if he was actually staying off the case as he'd requested. He hadn't seen the young genius in the office recently. Actually, he hadn't seen him since the motel visit six nights ago. He toyed with the idea of calling and checking in with him, but before he could do so, Megan and Colby came rushing into the office. "What's up?" he asked, noticing the excited looks on their faces.

"We've got a suspect for sending the letters!" Megan exclaimed breathlessly.

"Who?" Don asked as he tossed the forgotten cube to the side.

"Patrick Robert Davies," Megan informed him. "Your team was the one that helped get an arson conviction. He was released three weeks ago – time off for good behavior."

"Davies," Don mumbled, trying to recall the case. "Burned warehouses? Eventually set off a bomb in a construction zone at a new subdivision, right?"

"That's the one," Colby told him. "We had the lab compare the analysis of the bomb in your apartment to the one he set at the warehouse. Both were HMTD based explosives, a really easy to make home recipe. In both cases he remotely detonated the bombs using a cell phone as the trigger. And we tracked down his place of residence since his release – California City."

"That's where the last letter came from," Don thought aloud.

"Yeah," Megan smiled. "He's been sending the letters starting in LA and working his way closer to home. We've got a couple of agents on their way up there with his mug shot to see if anyone recognizes him."

"What about tracing the components of the bomb?"

"No way," Colby shook his head. "All the ingredients are common items- hydrogen peroxide, citric acid, and fuel tabs like the ones you take camping. No way to trace the individual components to any one location. If we can get a search warrant then we could check his house for those specific supplies."

"A judge is never going to give us a warrant based on the circumstantial evidence we've got."

"I know, Don," Megan agreed. "But if someone up there recognizes him, we're going to send some agents up there to keep him under surveillance. That way we can make sure he doesn't make any attempts on you, and keep an eye on him for anything he might slip up and reveal."

"I would love to lose the protection detail. And to see my family again." Don smiled. "This is great work, you guys. I really appreciate it. Thanks."

Colby shook his head. "Wait to thank us _after_ we have this creep behind bars."

--

"This is the post office?" David asked in disbelief. "My bedroom is bigger than this."

"Hey," Colby chuckled. "Winchester's post office was half the size of this one."

"No wonder you were in such a hurry to leave after high school."

"Yeah," Colby smiled as he got out of the car. "But there is one good thing about small towns."

"What's that?" David asked as he led the way up the sidewalk.

"Everybody knows everybody else's business. If Davies has been here, they're going to remember him."

"I hope you're right." David entered the building and bypassed the line going straight to the counter, Colby trailing behind him. The sole clerk looked up from his customer with an annoyed expression until David flashed his badge. "FBI. We need to speak to all of your clerks about a letter mailed from here two days ago."

The clerk's expression changed from annoyed to over-eager as he heard the word FBI. He nervously laughed. "All of our clerks would be me and Daniel. He's on break in the back if you want to talk to him." He gestured at a door and pressed a buzzer to allow the agents in. "Keep going until you hit the back wall, then look to your right. That's the break area."

David nodded their thanks as he and Colby followed the directions. "Did you see the look on his face?" he whispered.

"Like I said – small town. A visit from the FBI will fuel the rumor mills for months." He stopped talking as they reached the back wall and turned right. He heard David choke back a snort as they took in the 'break area'. It consisted of one TV tray and a plastic lawn chair. A man they assumed was Daniel was eating a sandwich while watching a baseball game on a five inch black and white TV. He looked up as they entered. "Sorry fellas - this area is off limits to customers."

"FBI," Colby announced. "I'm Agent Granger and this is Agent Sinclair." David let Colby take the lead, figuring his small town background would be helpful.

His eyes lit up. "FBI? What are you doing in these parts?"

"We need to ask you about a letter that was mailed from here three days ago." Colby showed him an evidence bag containing the envelope mailed from California City. "Do you recognize this?"

Daniel looked at the letter and shrugged. "We may be small, but we still handle a lot of letters – too many to remember a particular one." He looked back up at Colby. "What's so important about this one?"

"That's classified." David almost choked at Colby's deadpan, and had to cover the grin on his face as Daniel nodded in awe. "I do have a picture I need you to take a look at. You mind?"

"Anything to help Uncle Sam." Colby handed him Patrick Robert Davies' mug shot. "Yeah, I remember him. He was in here, what... About three days ago? Yeah, he came in because he had a flat. He was yelling and swearing and making a big scene. I'll never forget his face." He quickly made the connection. "He mailed the letter?"

"That's what we're trying to find out."

"Sorry, I just remember the flat. He could've mailed something before then, I guess." He paused with a thoughtful expression. "Hey, can't you get DNA or fingerprints off the letter?"

"Damn CSI shows," David grumbled low enough that only Colby heard him.

"We tried, Daniel. Our perp is just too clever." Colby took the mug shot back and handed him a business card. 'That's my cell. Call me if you remember anything else about his visit here, or if he mails anything in the next few days, okay?"

"You bet."

Daniel switched places with Joe so that the agents could speak with him, too. He provided the same information as Daniel, and the agents left the office with very little to add to their case. They climbed into the car and Colby turned it on, letting the air conditioning cool off the interior. "Well, at least we know he's been in the post office here."

"But none of the clerks at the other offices remember seeing him," David countered.

"Those offices are in much larger towns. They wouldn't necessarily remember him. Heck, if it weren't for his flat tire, these guys wouldn't remember him either."

"True," David agreed. "I guess we should go visit the general store. See if they recognize him, too." Colby nodded and backed out onto the main street. As they drove toward the store, neither one of them noticed the small, inconspicuous gray sedan that left the parking lot across the street and followed them from a very safe distance.

--

She smiled at herself as she watched the FBI agents enter Bo's Bait and Supply. It was working! The agents were hot on the trail of an innocent – at least for this crime – man. She knew that careful research and planning always paid off, but she was still shocked that she hadn't hit any snags. She knew that Davies did frequent this store, and that the store owner disliked his loud rants about prices and selection. He would no doubt tell the FBI exactly what they were looking to hear – that Davies came in often and seemed to be up to no good. Armed with that information, they would soon turn their main focus on watching Davies, and ease their guard on Eppes.

She called her husband's throw away cell phone from her own and smiled as he answered. "It's working, sweetheart," she whispered happily.

"Good girl, Jackie. How much longer?"

"If all goes well, a couple of days. Maybe even tomorrow."

"Excellent," he crooned in her ear. "I miss you so much, darling. I can't wait until we can be together again."

"I know." She smiled a dark, malevolent smile. "And what better way to reunite than with the slow, painful death of Agent Eppes?"

She could hear the smile in his voice as he answered, "No better way at all."


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning found Don and his team gathered in a conference room, outlining the developments so far.

"So positive IDs from the store owner and the postal clerk?" Don asked.

"Positive as in they've seen him," David corrected. "But the store owner can't confirm what items Davies bought, and the clerk can't say for certain that Davies mailed the letter."

"The other post office locations?" Don asked. He'd read the reports already but had found that discussing a case out loud sometimes led to a new angle.

"No one even remembers seeing him there," David answered. "But those are much larger offices with higher traffic."

"But we know this is his type of bomb," Megan added. "And he threatened you at trial. He also lives in California City and was released from prison shortly before the threats started. I think this is our guy, Don."

"Okay," Don nodded. "This isn't enough for a warrant though. What do you suggest?"

"Put a surveillance team on Davies," Colby answered. "See if they find anything to give us probable cause. I mean, he isn't brilliant so he's going to slip up eventually."

"That's a good idea." Don looked at David. "You call in the request and get that set up." David nodded and left the room. Don glanced at Megan. "I think we can call off the protection."

"I disagree," she argued forcefully. "He's not in custody yet."

"I know, but he's not going to be able to get to me if he's under a twenty-four hour watch." Seeing the resolve in her face, he decided to compromise. "Okay, how about I keep staying at the motel under the alias with the protection detail outside, but no more having the agents follow me to and from work." He saw her hesitance. "Megan, I'm sick of constantly having a shadow. I want to live again. I'm not saying no to someone watching me while I get some shut-eye, but I want the rest of the day to myself."

Megan knew she wasn't going to win this argument. "Alright, I'll make the arrangements."

"Great," Don beamed as he felt a weight being lifted from his shoulders. "I think I'll call Dad and tell him I can come by for dinner tonight."

Later that evening Don was driving to Charlie's house after work. He was taking a longer, scenic route, enjoying the freedom to do as he wanted again. His phone rang and he answered it, "Eppes."

"Don."

"Hey, Charlie!" Don greeted happily. "I'm on my way over right now."

"Wait," Charlie stopped him, the concern in his voice putting Don on edge.

"What is it, Buddy?"

"I don't think it's safe yet."

"What?" Don asked. "No, no, Charlie - they got him. Well, figured out who he is. It's okay."

"I think they're wrong."

"Look, Buddy – I've looked at the evidence. This is the guy."

"It's not Davies," Charlie insisted.

"What makes you so sure – wait, how'd you know about Davies?"

Charlie drew a deep breath, knowing things were about to get ugly. "I've been running a filter on the suspects."

"You _what_?" Don demanded angrily. "After I specifically asked you-"

"I know, I know," Charlie apologized. "But I couldn't sit and wait, not knowing whether my help could be the factor that helped save your life!"

"So you lied to me?" Don was vaguely aware of Charlie's feeble attempt at an explanation, but his main focus was drawn to the shoulder of the road. There was an old, beat up, wood-paneled station wagon in the grass, with a noticeably flat tire. Don noticed a middle aged woman holding a crying baby as she studied the damage. She looked up at the sound of his car and gave him a suspicious look as she moved to keep the car between them. Don slowed to a stop behind her car and graced her with his most disarming smile. She cautiously crept forward a bit, looking much like a frightened animal that might bolt at any minute. "Hold on a sec," Don cut Charlie off as he stepped out of the car. To the woman, he inquired, "Need some help?"

"I don't really know how to change a flat," she confessed shyly. "And my little boy here won't let me put him down long enough to try."

He smiled warmly. "I'd be happy to help you with that." He raised the phone to his ear again. "I need to help this woman change a flat. I'll see you at dinner and we'll talk about this some more."

"Don, wai-" Charlie's voice was cut off as Don flipped his phone shut. "Sorry about that. Brothers." He rolled his eyes and walked around to her trunk. "Your spare in good condition?"

"It should be," he heard her answer from behind them as he dug in the back of the wagon. "Brother? Yeah, brothers can be annoying, especially when they're a genius."

Don's brow creased into a frown. _How in the hell did she know-_ His thought was cut short as he felt a sharp pain on the back of his head. The blow knocked him off balance and he fell to his knees, fighting to clear his blurring vision. There was another blow, this one to his ribs, which left him breathless. He slumped to the ground, desperately trying to draw oxygen into his lungs. He felt a steel-toed boot nudging him onto his stomach and groaned as someone ground a knee into his back, wrenching his arms behind him and handcuffing him. The woman bent over into his line of vision, holding a syringe in front of his face.

"Time to say good night, Agent Eppes." She callously jabbed the needle into his neck and emptied its contents. The world slowly began to fade to black, and Don didn't know if it was from the lack of oxygen or the drug in his system. The last thing he was aware of was a man and a woman laughing and discussing the joys of revenge...


	8. Chapter 8

A freezing, bone numbing cold brought Don back to his senses. He gasped in shock, wincing as he encountered a tight pressure surrounding his chest and stomach that prevented him from catching his breath. He panted shallowly, trying to figure out what was going on. He had a dry, foul taste in his mouth that he thought might be a cloth rag. He automatically reached up to remove it, his panic ratcheting up a notch as he realized his hands were bound together and he was unable to lift them due to whatever was restraining his upper body. He opened his eyes, rapidly blinking them to clear the icy water dripping down his face. His first clear vision was of the stranded motorist, only she had no baby in her arms and she wore an expression on her face that made his stomach knot in fear.

"Nice to see you awake, _Agent_ Eppes," she sneered. He saw the empty bucket in her hands and realized she was responsible for his cold, wet state. He wanted to ask – no, demand – that she tell him what was going on, but couldn't get the words past his gag. "I hope you're comfortable."

The obvious hatred in her voice sent his mind reeling. _Who was she and what the hell had he ever done to her?_ He attempted to shift to a more assertive position, immediately stopping as his body protested. He glanced down and saw that he was seated on the ground with several loops of rope wrapped around his bare torso and upper arms. His hands were tightly bound in his lap and, although it was a little dim, he could almost swear his hands were slightly discolored from a lack of circulation. He turned his head to the side, felling a rough texture against his cheek, recognizing it as the same substance he felt digging painfully into his bare back. He craned his head a little further and realized he was bound to a wide tree trunk.

"Yes, you do look comfy." He turned his attention back to her just in time to have another bucket of icy water thrown in his face. It took him a minute to realize that it hadn't come from her, but somewhere to her right. He shook his head to clear his vision, quickly regretting it as the knot on the back of his head made its presence known. He took several shallow breaths, trying to calm his nerves and ease his discomfort.

"Bet you never wanted to see me again," an angry, male voice spoke. Don's eyes were finally able to focus and he located the source of the voice. He had to squint in the dim light of dusk but he finally was able to discern the figure. His eyes widened in shock and the man laughed at his expression. "We meet again, Eppes. Now that you recognize me, I'm sure you remember my lovely wife." He gestured to the woman standing behind him, before turning his attention back to Don. "I imagine you're a bit shocked to see me. I'm sure you were relieved that you had finally traced the threats to poor Mr. Davies. Unfortunately for him – and you – he's not the one that sent them. Merely a diversion to get to you."

Don continued to stare in shock at the man - John Alexander Reiner, convicted of insider trading and sentenced to thirty-three months in prison. Don remembered the case clearly because it had been his first successful closed investigation after being transferred to the Los Angeles office. He was confused, though - he couldn't remember Reiner ever threatening him, and his crime certainly hadn't been a violent one. His stomach plummeted as he realized the FBI had no reason to suspect him. In fact, he could only think of one person in the world who night eventually make the connection – and he had just angrily yelled at him, what – a few minutes, hours, even days ago? _Please ignore my ranting like you always do, _Don begged silently.

His thoughts returned to the present as Reiner approached him. He involuntarily flinched, hating himself for doing so, and compensating by attempting to draw himself more upright, ignoring the bark as bit into his skin. Reiner laughed mirthlessly, bending down and placing his face so close to Don's that their noses were almost touching. "I meant what I said in the letters," he promised. "Slow and painful, bit by bit." He smile grew as he saw a faint hint of fear flash in his captive's eyes. "Want to know how you're going to die?" He stood and walked away from Don back to his wife, Jackie. She handed him another bucket of frigid water and he carried it back to the agent, humming as he did so. He held it over Don, laughing as the hapless agent lowered his head to his chest. He slowly poured the water over him, taking care to soak every inch of his body. When the bucket was empty he set it down and kneeled in front of Don. "We're in the mountains in the middle of nowhere. This being late October – well, I'm sure you went hiking up here at some point in your life. You know how cold it gets, don't you? Of course hypothermia doesn't really set in unless it's cold _and_ wet." He maliciously smiled. "Oh look at that – you _are_ wet. Well then, I guess you know what's in store for you tonight."

Whether it was Reiner's words, or just his body's sluggish response time from being drugged, Don didn't know, but he suddenly found himself shivering. He clamped down on the gag to keep his teeth from chattering, refusing to give Reiner that much satisfaction.

"Don't worry, Donny-boy," the man sneered. "It's not going to be cold enough to kill you tonight, or even tomorrow tonight, or the night after. But it will definitely be uncomfortable and unpleasant, and take a toll on you physically and mentally. No, I think the dehydration will be more of a factor, don't you? No water for your stay with us." He smiled as he reached out and roughly rubbed Don's wet hair. "Well, aside from this. They say three to five days is the most a man can do without water, maybe six if he's in good shape. Lucky for me you are, so I can enjoy this for a while."

Don felt his hopes declining the more Reiner spoke. He had carefully planned this kidnapping and revenge, and he'd executed it with a ridiculous amount of ease. Don was beginning to think he wasn't going to make it out of this – with or without Charlie's help.

"But," the ex-convict continued, "The coup de grace will be the most fun. I won't be able to see your face _as_ you die, but I'll be able to see your face when you realize exactly _how_ you are going to die." He laughed and stood up. "I think that's enough bonding tonight, don't you?" He walked to his wife and placed an arm around her shoulders, leading her away from the woods toward their cabin a few yards away. He paused and turned back over his shoulder. "Try to think warm thoughts." The couple laughed heartily at the jibe as they disappeared into the darkness.

Don swallowed nervously as he tried to calm the panic he was feeling. _First things first,_ he thought to himself. _Try to get free. Even if it doesn't work, the movement will keep me warm._ He twisted his wrists against one another, trying to loosen the bindings. He sighed in defeat as his tired mind finally informed him that his wrists were bound with thick, leather strips. He could feel them tightening as the night breeze dried the wet material. _Okay, maybe I can loosen the ropes around my chest._ He tried to draw in a deep breath to expand the rope enough to wriggle loose, but discovered the ropes had absolutely no give. He felt a warm, wet substance running down his back and realized the rough tree bark had scraped off patches of skin as he had struggled. Maybe he could just scrape enough flesh off to make some space between him and the ropes.

He leaned his head against the tree and half sobbed/half laughed at the crazy idea. _Don't lose it already, Don._ His shivering was increasing, and biting on his gag was no longer holding the teeth chattering at bay. He felt an overwhelming urge to lash out at something – anything – to banish the feeling of defeat creeping into his heart but, as tightly bound as he was, he couldn't even manage that one small task. He fought back tears as he closed his eyes, hoping to wake up and find that this was all a bad dream.

--

"Reeves."

"Don's missing," Charlie's frantic voice filled her ear.

"What?" Megan asked in shock. "He was just here a few hours ago. How can he be missing?"

"He was supposed to come over for dinner, but he never showed up. Something's happened to him – I know it."

"Okay," Megan tried to soothe him. "When did you last speak to him?"

"He was coming over here on his way home from work. We were talking and I told him that I thought he should still be very careful, that I didn't think Davies was the guy."

"You told him about working on the case?" Megan demanded.

"Um, yeah," Charlie mumbled. "But only because I was worried."

"How'd he take it?"

"He was mad," Charlie admitted. "He yelled at me, but then he had to stop and help a woman that was stranded on the road."

"Maybe he was too angry and changed his mind about dinner," Megan suggested.

"He would have called," Charlie insisted. "No matter how angry he was, he knew we would be concerned and he would have called." Charlie made a noise that could have been a small sob. "What if the person he helped is the one behind the threats?"

"Charlie, I don't know about that. It could just be that whatever was wrong is taking a little longer than he expected."

"Like I said," Charlie's tone was becoming irritable, "He would have called. I've tried to call his cell four times in the past three hours and it goes straight to voicemail." He waited, listening to the silence on the other end. "Please, Megan," he pleaded. "I'm really worried."

Megan silently debated with herself. Don wasn't irresponsible, and Charlie had a point – he knew his family was worried and he wouldn't have just skipped out on dinner and not told them. And he did sometimes turn off his cell, but he had agreed to keep it on at all times as long as the suspect was out there on the loose. She sighed before speaking. "Alright Charlie, let me make a couple of calls and I'll get back to you." He agreed and she hung up with him, immediately dialing David's cell. "Hey, are you still watching Davies?"

"Yeah," he answered through a yawn. "I've got thirty more minutes before my relief gets here. What's up?"

"Don was supposed to stop by Charlie's for dinner, but he's a no-show."

"That doesn't sound like him," David answered, his voice suddenly alert and filled with worry. "But Davies is still here. He hasn't left the house all day, although I guess he could have an accomplice."

"No, I don't think so. He was strictly a loner when he was committing his crimes. Besides, his choice of residence now is an indication that he wants to get away from everyone and everything, not establish a partnership with someone." She tapped her lip, deep in thought. "I didn't want to spook him before, but maybe we need to question him now. See if he alibis for the night Don's apartment was bombed. If so, maybe we should start looking at other suspects."

"Okay," David agreed. "Give me an hour and I'll let you know."

"He may not be willing to talk," she pointed out.

"I know, but this is Don's life we're talking about. I will do _whatever_ is necessary to convince Mr. Davies to talk." The line went dead and Megan began sorting through Don's old cases for the second time. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, but she hoped it would jump out at her when she found it.

--

_Cold. It was so cold._

Don could think of nothing else, except the cold invading his body. The wind would gust from one direction, sucking what little heat he had straight from his body, before changing direction and attacking him from a different angle. He was becoming drowsy as his body became colder, but his position was so uncomfortable that the second he dozed off, his head would sag forward and the strain on his neck would yank him back to awareness. He'd noticed that his hands had begun trembling, and that his fingers and toes were tingling.

His thirst was starting to worsen, and the disgusting rag in his mouth did nothing to help that. He'd felt the water running down his face earlier, and had desperately wanted to stick his tongue out and savor whatever few drops he could catch, but the gag had prevented that. Now the water was mostly dried, the evening winds evaporating it as they rushed across his skin. He was still shivering – more severely now – but knew that was a good sign. It was when you stopped that you had to start worrying.

Between the bump on the head and his decreased body temperature, he knew his brain wasn't firing on all cylinders. Still, he had to try to figure out why Reiner had it in for him so badly. He hadn't been convicted of a violent crime, and he hadn't served major time. If Don's confused mind was right, he had been a model prisoner and had even gotten released early for good behavior. Don thought back to the trial, trying to remember if anyone had made any threats. All he remembered was going to the courthouse to testify, and seeing the look of defeat on Reiner's face as he'd laid out the case for the jury. The defendant had looked like a guilty man all during the trial, taking comfort from his family's – no, wait – his wife's presence. There had been a son too, hadn't there? Don wracked his brain, searching for a memory of the young man. He moaned in frustration, knowing there was something important in that memory that was dancing just out of reach.

A strong gust of wind rushed by, sucking the air from Don's lungs. His trembling increased so much that he banged his head against the tree, almost directly on his earlier injury. He tried to breathe through the pain as stars danced across his vision, but the cursed ropes were doing their job in constricting his chest. His vision began to gray around the edges, and he knew unconsciousness was beckoning to him. He was only slightly surprised to find himself giving in, looking forward to even a moment of solace from this hell.


	9. Chapter 9

"Charlie, what's going on?" Alan studied his son as he frantically arranged chalkboards so that they were covering every inch of the garage. His behavior was frighteningly reminiscent of the time his mother died and the time Don had almost been killed by a group of bank robbers. Alan's face paled as he realized the implication. "Oh no, is it Don? Has something happened to him?"

Charlie remained silent as he began furiously scribbling across the boards. Alan watched as the long complex string of numbers and symbols flowed from his son. "Charlie!" he snapped, trying to get his attention. "Tell me right now – has something happened to your brother?"

Charlie stopped writing, but didn't look at his father. "_I_ think so," he whispered sadly. "Megan's supposed to call soon with an update."

Alan chuckled. "Is this because your brother missed dinner? He does that sometimes. You know, gets busy and forgets." As the words left his mouth, Alan realized that even he didn't believe them.

"Not this time, Dad. He knew how concerned we were." Charlie did look up to meet his gaze this time. "I keep telling everyone – he would have called. Why doesn't anyone believe me?"

Alan was opening his mouth to respond when Charlie's cell phone rang. He glanced at the ID and recognized Megan's number. "What'd you find out?"

"David interviewed Davies. He's got a strong alibi for the night of the explosion – he was in the police station being questioned about a hit and run. You were right, Charlie – it's not him."

"I knew it," Charlie whispered brokenly. So someone did have his brother, and they had no clue as to who it could be. His mind was swirling and he felt his stomach churn as he realized that he might not be able to figure this out in time to save Don's life – assuming he was even still alive. _Of course he is,_ Charlie chastised himself. _This person wants to exact a slow, painful death as revenge. He wouldn't kill Don on the first night._ He didn't know whether to feel relieved or not by that thought.

"Charlie!"

Megan's sharp yell broke through his thoughts. "Yes?"

"I asked, can you run a filter again using new parameters?"

"Yes," he mumbled. "But what parameters?"

"I've got a few ideas," Megan assured him. "I'm coming over in a few minutes with the old cases and the profile I've put together. David is staying in California City so he can flash around the photo of anyone we might single out." She paused, unused to the young genius' silence. "Hey," she whispered quietly. "We're going to find him, okay?"

"I hope you're right," he whispered back before the line went dead in her ear.

--

Morning came early, but not nearly early enough for the suffering agent bound in the woods. As the sun peeked over the horizon, its rays filtered through the canopy of trees, slowly warming the forest air. Don's eyes squinted against the brightness of the light, but he welcomed the warmth as it slowly surrounded him. He still had the occasional tremor run through his body, but the shivering had stopped as daylight arrived. Reiner had been right – it hadn't been cold enough to kill him, but Don definitely felt weakened from the torturous night.

He had gotten little or no rest, quickly waking up after passing out as his neck and shoulders screamed in agony. He'd spent the rest of the night in a futile attempt to find a comfortable position in which to rest. He leaned his head against the tree but quickly looked up at the sound of footsteps. He saw John and Jackie coming toward him, each carrying a plate of food and a large bottle of water. They continued toward him, stopping only a few feet away, where they settled in for breakfast.

Don could smell the food – bacon, eggs, and waffles. His stomach growled angrily and his face flushed at the amused looks on his captors' faces. He moved his gaze from the food to the bottles of water and it suddenly dawned on him that he was very thirsty. He tried to tear his eyes away from the bottles of water – to stop torturing himself – but they wouldn't obey his command. John looked up from his plate and smirked at Don.

"Smells good, doesn't it?" He took a couple of deep swallows of water. "Ahhh! That's refreshing – wet and cool." He smiled at Jackie as she, too, took a long drink. They returned to their meal, ignoring Don except for the occasional smirk or sneer. When they'd finished, Jackie took the dishes and disappeared back to the cabin, leaving her husband and Don alone.

He plopped down on the ground next to Don, his expression changing from one of callous disregard to intense hatred. "I won't talk about this in front of her," he began, "But I want you to know why I'm doing this to you." Don refused to look at him, so he calmly reached out, grabbed the agents head and slammed it against the trunk. He smiled in satisfaction as Don's face took on a greenish tint, and he swallowed trying to keep the sudden bout of nausea at bay. "Pay attention now, or I'll do it again." Don rested his head against the tree, letting it loll to the side to face Reiner. He blinked his eyes, trying to keep them open against the throbbing inside his skull. "Do you remember much about me before the trial?" At Don's blank look, he shrugged and continued. "We had a son, Jacob. Fine young man going to a private college on a full academic scholarship. He had all the respect in the world, carrying our family name and the reputation that went with it." His eyes hardened and bored into Don's. "After your investigation and that joke of a trial, the school had the nerve to ask him to leave. Said he didn't meet their idea of a good student. He didn't do anything wrong, and I think he was hurt the most by my situation. You want to know what he told me the day before my trial?" He seized Don's jaw and clenched it tighter and tighter until Don squirmed in pain. "He told me that his mother and I were _dead_ to him. It hurt me deeply, but it devastated my wife. She was already in a financial crisis trying to fund my defense, and then he tells us that. She lost everything at that trial – her husband, her son, her reputation, and her money. She lived in poverty for the year after my trial, until I managed to get a friend to teach her the joys of computers and the internet."

He released Don's jaw and wiped his hands on his jeans as if the very contact with Don disgusted him. "She was a fast learner, too. Started gathering money through one scam or another, and started researching you. Your history, your cases, your tendencies, everything. Heck, it was her idea to borrow her sister's kid to put you at ease. She's a clever one." He reached out and patted the agent's cheek in a mock affectionate gesture. "I'll leave you be for now." He stood to leave and half-heartedly kicked Don's bound ankles. "That sun will be all the way up pretty soon, and shining down on you through the trees." He gulped down the rest of the water and tossed the empty bottle at Don, laughing as it bounced off his cheek. "Try not to sweat too much."

Don watched Reiner walk away, waiting until he was out of sight before looking longingly at the empty bottle beside him. Don felt tears pricking at his eyes again and, for the hundredth time, prayed that Charlie was still defying his order to stay out of the case.

--

"This is taking too long!" Charlie yelled in frustration. He slammed the chalk onto the ground, watching as it broke into several pieces. Part of his brain began thinking about how math and physics could be used to predict the pieces that would break off – their shape and size, and even where they would land. _I wonder what part of Don broke first?_ "Stop it!" He didn't realize he'd yelled aloud until he felt Megan's quiet presence by his side, her hand gripping his own. He gently squeezed her hand and gave her an apologetic smile before letting go to grab a brand new piece of chalk and begin working on the board again.

Megan sat back and watched him, her heart breaking at the torment she knew both he and his father were feeling right now. She cleared her mind of those thoughts and reviewed her profile again. She had determined that their perp was someone of above average intelligence, possibly having worked some sort of journalism, technology, or research field judging by how thorough the frame job on Davies and the plan to capture Don had been. This perp thought about three steps ahead of the game, which was why even Charlie was having a difficult time narrowing the list of suspects down. Being such an advanced thinker, he or she would more than likely _not_ have threatened Don, either at trial or during the investigation.

"Any news?" Alan asked as he sat next to her on the old sofa. He handed her a cup of coffee as he fixed her with an intense stare. She smiled as she recognized the intensity she often saw in Don's eyes – like father, like son.

"No," she spoke softly, not wanting to disturb Charlie. "Nothing on our end. We need something – anything – to give us a nudge in the right direction. I'm hoping Charlie can provide us with that." He'd been working straight through the night and could probably use a nap, but she knew better than to suggest it.

"Tell me something," Alan requested, locking his eyes onto hers. "And I want you to be honest. Do you think Don is still alive?"

She nodded. "Yes, I do." He silently gestured for her to continue. "There's not an easy way to say this, but the letters were explicit that his death was going to be slow," she bit back the words 'and painful' and continued. "So I think he's going to be kept alive for a few days."

Alan surprised her by leaning over and giving her a fatherly hug. "Thank you," he whispered in her ear. "Thank you for being honest with me and doing everything you can to find my son." He released her from his embrace, picked up her empty coffee cup, and left her and his youngest son alone in the garage.

--

_Hot. No, not hot. Warm. Warm and dry. Very dry. Like a desert._

Don's thoughts tumbled aimlessly around in his head. The sun was at its full height, and the mid-day heat had become uncomfortable as it continuously beat down on him from above. He found himself staring at the empty bottle more and more often, willing to do just about anything for even a sip of water. He tried to take his mind off his thirst, but that just made him more aware of the brutal pounding in his head. The headache would occasionally peak in intensity, and Don would have to clench his eyes shut to try and block out the sensation of an ice pick being driven through his skull. The pain got so bad at one point that he knew he was going to be sick, but he desperately fought the nausea down, knowing that he needed to retain as many fluids as possible. He succeeded – barely – but was rewarded by intense cramping in his abdomen and back. _Another sign of dehydration,_ he thought. _Moving right along at a nice pace here. Hate to ruin your fun, Reiner, but I don't think you're going to get six days out of me_. He leaned his head back against the rough bark of the tree and closed his eyes, trying to will his pain away, and failing miserably.


	10. Chapter 10

Megan watched impatiently as Charlie finished one last calculation on the board. He'd been working in the garage all day, barely taking a break save for one trip to the bathroom and to grab a cup of tea, but they both knew how urgent his work was. He stopped writing and moved to the old sofa in one fluid motion, scooping four case files off of the stack of hundreds, and thrusting them at her. "The one on top," he told her.

"John Alexander Reiner," she read aloud. "Your equation gave him an eighty six point nine probability of being the one behind the threats." She thumbed through the other three case files. "These all have higher probabilities." She glanced up and raised a questioning eyebrow. "Why him?"

Charlie shrugged. "I don't know why, but I know it's him." The doubtful expression remained on her face, so he pushed. "Look, I know it's not what the numbers say, but in this case I don't think we should go strictly by the numbers. There's something in there – I don't know _what_ exactly – that I couldn't quantify, but... I _know_ it's him."

"Right," she nodded. She smiled slightly. "Mathematician's Instinct?"

He blushed and looked at the ground. "Yeah. I guess so."

"Okay, good enough for me," she assured him as she removed the four mug shots. "But just to be on the safe side, I'll go ahead and fax all of these to David for him to show around."

Charlie nodded and reached out toward the files. "May I see Reiner's file again?"

Megan handed it to him. "I'm going to go use your father's fax – I'll be right back."

Charlie barely heard her as he was too engrossed in the transcript from Reiner's trial. He had never made any threats toward Don, but there was something Charlie felt he was overlooking. Reiner had been a model citizen throughout the trial – polite, well dressed, non-aggressive – all while calmly maintaining his innocence. He'd even had family support the whole time from his wife. His son hadn't been there, though. Charlie flipped through the transcript looking for any mention of the son and came up empty. He pulled the sentencing report and checked the character witnesses for Reiner and found only his wife's name listed; his son hadn't testified. _Was that what it was? Did the son have something to do with it?_ Charlie pulled out his laptop and settled cross-legged on the floor. He logged onto the internet and began looking for any information or reference to Jacob Alexander Reiner.

--

Don wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or not as the sun started to set. It was nice not to have the heat surrounding him and increasing his thirst, but he knew he was in for another long, chilly night. As if on cue, he saw the Reiners approaching, four buckets of ice cold hell in their hands. He unconsciously began shaking his head back and forth, much to John's delight. Jackie stopped at a safe distance, while her husband continued striding toward him, and Don felt his body begin trembling in anticipation of the cold dousing.

"How was your day?" Reiner asked cheerily. "Nice and warm? I bet you're looking forward to cooling off, huh?" He raised bucket number one and poured it over Don's head. He was surprised that the agent didn't turn his head, but rather kept looking up directly into the pouring water. _Odd,_ he thought. Realization hit and he couldn't help but chuckle at the agent's resourcefulness. He set the empty bucket aside and beckoned his wife to come to stand next to him. "Jackie, I think we've underestimated our little Fed, here." She remained silent, her eyes shooting daggers at Don. "Do you see what he's attempting to do?"

Jackie squinted in the dusky light, and could just make out the agents lips as they moved around the gag. She listened carefully and could hear faint sucking sounds. Her ire increased as she realized that Eppes was gaining some sort of relief from his thirst. "No!" she shouted angrily as she reached out and wrenched his head back, banging it against the tree. She felt a twinge of satisfaction as a muffled moan that escaped his lips and the sucking noises stopped.

"That's right, Jackie," John smiled. "Hold his head still while I finish." With his wife's help, he was able to empty the remaining water, completely soaking Don, while leaving the gag relatively dry. He patted the agent's head and gestured to his wife to let go. They stood back watching as Don's head sagged to his chest, defeat evident in every inch of his body. Reiner was relatively certain he heard a muffled sob escape the gag, making his smile grow even larger. He slung an arm around Jackie's shoulders. 'This is even better than I thought," he whispered in her ear. He felt her nod against his shoulder, and spoke to Don. "We'll be inside enjoying a nice fire. Don't worry though – we'll be thinking of you the whole time."

Don heard their footsteps as they disappeared back to their cabin. His body was shivering and the cold had already seeped into his bones. He half-heartedly sucked at the gag, seeking any remaining moisture. The last bit had been contaminated by the vile taste of the cloth, but it had still been the most refreshing liquid he could ever remember drinking. Realizing he'd sucked it dry, he gave up and gingerly leaned his head against the tree, trying to avoid the large lump that had been growing in size since his capture. He found himself staring up at the night sky, his eyes moving from one star to another as if pleading for their help.

They ignored him of course, and part of Don's mind resented them for that. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was beginning to lose his grip on reality – _delirium is another dehydration symptom,_ he vaguely remembered – but he didn't care. He was so tired of the constant tremors racing through his body, so tired of the myriad aches and pains, so tired – period – that he closed his eyes offering himself up to whatever fate might have in store for him.

"Don."

Don's eyes shot back open. _Charlie?_

"Don!"

He squinted in the darkness of the night, just making out a vague shadow in the moonlight. The shadow crept closer, and Don cursed himself for trying to shrink back against the tree, cursing himself again as the pain flared in his abraded back.

"It's me, Don. It's okay."

That _was_ Charlie's voice. He lifted his head, surprised at how difficult that task had become. He tried to call out to him from behind the gag, but Charlie was suddenly next to him, a ghostly apparition on the moonlight.

"Shh, don't talk," the vision soothed him. "I came to tell you that I'm working on the case. I _will_ find you Don, do you hear me?"

Don weakly laughed. _Now there was some wishful thinking._

"I mean it, Don." Charlie's ghostly hand was resting on his cheek, and though Don couldn't feel _it_, he could feel the cold in that one spot fading away. He lifted his eyes to Charlie's just in time to see a small smile spread across his face. "You have to hold on though, okay? I know you can do it, Don. You're a fighter, not a quitter." Don nodded as his eyes teared up and he leaned into a hand that wasn't really there. "Good," Charlie whispered. "I'll be back soon."

Don started to protest as his brother's image faded away, but lacked the energy to do even that much. Instead, he found himself closing his eyes and slipping into unconsciousness.


	11. Chapter 11

Charlie awoke to an annoying ringing in his ear. It took him a minute to figure out that it was emanating from his cell phone. He glanced at his watch. _Eight o'clock? No, that would mean he had slept for over five hours!_ He grabbed his phone and answered, "Hello?"

"Bad news, Charlie," Megan's dejected voice sounded in his ear. "None of the locals in California City or the other post offices recognized any of the photos."

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes as his sluggish mind registered what she had just told him. "Wait," he mumbled as he shook his head, trying to wake up. "I found something last night." He glanced down at his laptop and studied the screen. "I think he had help."

"Who, Reiner?"

Charlie nodded, before realizing Megan couldn't see him. "Yes," he said in frustration. _Jeez, wake up! Your brother's life is at stake here._ That seemed to be the jolt he needed, as the fog lifted from his brain. "I think you should look at his wife and son."

"Okay." She waited for him to explain further.

"The wife, Jackie, came to the trial every day without fail. She also poured what little money and assets that hadn't been seized by the FBI into funding her husband's defense. After the trial, she filed for bankruptcy. As best I can tell, she didn't start popping up on the radar again for around a year, and then her name shows up in conjunction with some questionable investments where she made money, while all the other investors lost."

"Up to her husband's old tricks? Alright, she's obviously got a motive and the brains to do the research needed to plan a kidnapping and frame Davies. Why the son?"

"He was a stand out student at the UCLA before the trial," he informed her. "After the trial, he pretty much disappears. There's no record of him as a UCLA student anymore – no record of him at all, actually."

"You think he went into hiding to plan all this?" Megan asked doubtfully.

"No, I don't think so," Charlie said. "But I think he's the variable that I couldn't quantify, and that he might indirectly have something to do with the kidnapping. I think you should find him and question him as soon as possible."

"I have an old family photo in Reiner's file. I'll send it up to David right now."

The phone clicked in his ear, and Charlie wearily sighed as he stared up at the chalkboards in front of him. He was pretty sure this was the fastest he'd ever managed to run this many equations and suspects, but he was also sure that he'd never had this much incentive before. He just hoped it wasn't too late.

--

_Sausage and pancakes. Dad must have cooked breakfast again._ Don smiled as his stomach growled. He didn't know why he was so hungry, but he couldn't wait to dig in. He felt a yawn coming and tried to lift his arms to stretch. _What the hell?_ He opened his eyes and blinked several times to clear the sleep from them. He found himself looking at a man and a woman seated on the ground in front of him, enjoying a delicious looking breakfast. _His Dad had invited company over?_ He glanced around him. _And they were eating outside?_ His confused mind tried to weed through the images and thoughts chaotically spinning through his head. He yawned again, frowning at the dry material filling his mouth, and the tightness in his chest.

"Sleep good, Donny-boy?" the man seated in front of him laughed.

No, not just a man – Reiner. His mind slowly began to put the pieces together. He had been captured by Reiner and he was bound to a tree in the middle of the woods. _Okay, good start,_ he thought to himself. _And? And he's letting you die a very slow, painful death. Okay, I could have done without remembering that part._

As the memories returned, so did the pain. His hands, forearms, feet and lower legs were tingling, and his back was on fire. His chest ached as he shallowly panted for air, feeling his heart beating faster than usual. He felt light headed and nauseated, and knew that could be due to any number of causes. His stomach growled again, reminding him that his captives hadn't bothered to feed him during his stay. The last thing that hit home did so with a vengeance – an incredible thirst, unlike he had ever experienced before. The inside of his mouth was dry and covered with a thick mucous that made it hard to swallow. Whatever moisture he might have managed was quickly absorbed by the cloth rag stuffed into his mouth.

He was aware that John had gotten up to come stand next to him as he drank a glass of orange juice, and chased it down with a bottle of water. He delighted in the look of despair in Don's eyes as he teased him. He again tossed the empty bottle to lie next to the weakened agent and left him alone for the day.

--

Megan was reading through Reiner's case file for the fifth time when her phone rang. "Reeves."

"We got a positive ID on Jackie Reiner," David announced excitedly. "At the post office and the supply store up here, and at the post office in Lancaster. They remember her because her hands were bandaged – due to a cooking accident. The postal clerk up here says he remembers her talking about it because his aunt had once burned her hands cooking pasta, too."

"That's good," Megan agreed. "But I've been looking over the file, and I've had a couple of agents check out her last known residence – neither she nor husband has been seen there in the past two weeks. They've got a hideout somewhere."

"Is there anything to suggest a location?"

"No," Megan answered. "But based on the profile I've done on her and her husband – the attention to detail and planning – I'm certain that they're not anywhere near California City."

"We need a location fast," David said. "I don't know how much longer Don has, assuming he's..." He let the sentence trail off, not wanting to vocalize what they were both thinking.

"I know. Charlie mentioned something about their son, Jacob Alexander Reiner. He apparently dropped out of school and there's been no trace of him since. Charlie thinks he might somehow be involved or at least have some sort of useful information."

"I'm heading back to the office," David told her. "See what you and Charlie can dig up on him, and get Colby to help out. If Charlie's right – and if we can find the son – we're going to have to be ready to move quickly."

"Okay." They hung up and Megan called Charlie. "Charlie-"

"I think I found him!" Charlie cut her off.

"The son?"

"Yes," he exclaimed triumphantly. "I pulled his transcript from UCLA and ran it against similar course offerings in other colleges and universities in the area – assuming he'd still want to finish in the same field of study, his credits would have to transfer, right? And then I narrowed it down to smaller schools, because he'd want to stay out of the public eye-"

"Charlie!" Megan stopped him. "_Where_ is he?"

Charlie took a brief second to catch his breath. "He's studying criminal justice at Valens University in Glendale, under the name of Jacob Alexander."

"He dropped the family name to escape all the publicity," Megan thought aloud. "Great work, Charlie. I'll head over there to interview him right now."

"I want to go with you," he quickly added.

"Charlie, time is of the essence."

"I know, but it's almost on the way." He paused. "Besides, he might be reluctant to talk. I can personalize this for him – make him see that Don's not the only one being hurt. Maybe get 'professor-student' vibes going. Please, Megan."

She couldn't ignore the pleading note in his voice. "Alright, but be ready to jump in the car as soon as I pull up."

Thirty minutes later Charlie was seated next to Megan and they were headed to Valens University. He nervously bounced his knee as he scrawled equations in a notebook on his lap. She knew it was his way of coping, and she was relieved that he hadn't retreated from reality as Don had once told her he tended to do in the face of tragedy. She smiled as she thought about how proud Don would be, no – _will_ be – when he heard about this.

Once they reached the campus, they made short work of finding Jacob's dorm room. They knocked on the door, both praying that he was at home. After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened to reveal a young, dark haired man. He gave a cursory glance to Charlie before turning his gaze to Megan. He made a face as he studied her appearance. "FBI, right?" he sneered.

Megan opened her mouth to ask how he knew, and then thought that he'd probably seen plenty of agents in his day. "Yes," she answered politely. "We need to ask you some questions about your parents." He didn't respond, so she held up her hand. "May we come in?"

"Don't bother," he spat. "This isn't going to be a long conversation."

"I understand you're upset, but there has been an incident recently that we believe your parents might be involved in." He didn't flinch. "Special Agent Eppes, the man who investigated and testified against your father, had been receiving a series of threatening letters."

"Had been?"

_Well, at least that got his attention._ "Yes. He was abducted two days ago. The evidence points to your parents."

"Well, _I_ didn't have anything to do with it," he insisted. "And I don't associate with my parents any longer. Haven't in a long time." He started to close the door.

"Wait!" Charlie cried as he forced his way past Alexander and into the dorm room.

"Hey!" he protested. "You have no right to come barging-"

"My name is Charlie Eppes," he introduced himself. "Agent Eppes is my brother."

Alexander sighed. "And I care, why?"

"Because I think you're a good person. You stayed away from the trial, changed your name, cut all ties to your parents..." Charlie paused as he stared intently at the young man. "Please, if you know _anything_ that might help... He's my brother – I want him back alive and well."

"Have a seat," he relented as he gestured at his bed. He sank into the desk chair. "But I honestly don't think I know anything that will be of any use."

"I appreciate this," Charlie thanked him.

"Your mother was spotted in Lancaster and California City – two of the locations the threats were mailed from. Do you know of any ties – family, friends, real estate, anything – she, or your father, might have to those locations?"

He thought for a moment. "No, I'm sorry. We lived in Huntington Park when I was growing up. Never went out to the northern edges of the city."

"Are there any places at all that you can think of that might not be in their files? Did you ever have a vacation home or frequent a park or campground? Any little thing might help."

He thought long and hard, his face finally lighting up. "Wait a minute, there was something." He got up and rummaged through a box of keepsakes he pulled from a desk drawer. He finally pulled out a picture of him and his parents and handed it to Megan. "We went camping up there a couple of times when I was a kid – eleven years old in that picture."

"Do you know where it is?" Charlie asked as he held his breath.

"Let me see," Jacob thought aloud. "I think it was up near Castaic. I remember that it was very isolated – we had to take a four wheel drive vehicle up there, and even with that we still hiked about a half a mile to the cabin. I used to love it because it was cold enough to sit by the campfire at night, but warm enough to hike during the day."

"No neighboring cabins?" Megan inquired.

"Not back then. I don't know if it's grown in population, though."

"Wouldn't the FBI have seized the cabin as part of their assets during the trial?" Charlie asked Megan. She nodded.

"Oh that," Jacob laughed. "Mom had a friend – Sherri Riverston – that she signed over some of the property to when the investigation started getting close. I'll bet Sherri's still got the deed. She'll have to help you with finding it, too. It's been ten years and I don't have a clue as to how we got there."

"Thank you," Charlie said as he and Megan rose to leave. He scribbled his name and number onto a piece of paper and pressed it into Jacob's hand. "If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to ask."

"Professor Eppes," he read aloud. He looked up and smiled at Charlie. "I just might take you up on that, professor."

Charlie clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll look forward to your call."

As he followed Megan into the hallway, she was already on the phone with David. "You and Colby get a couple of teams on stand-by. We've got a possible location near Castaic. I'll call you once we have more information."

She hung up and they stepped outside into the fading afternoon light. She looked at Charlie as he walked next to her and saw the anguish on his face. She knew exactly what he was thinking – they were running out of time.

--

Don's head sagged forward onto his chest. The position caused an unbelievable amount of strain on his neck, but that sensation was lost in the sea of agony flowing through the rest of his body. He would have lifted his head to ease the tension, but couldn't find the strength. He heard the footsteps approaching, heard the laughter as his captors took in his condition. He wasn't even able to resist as Jackie again pinned his head back against the tree. He started shivering the instant the first drop of water touched his skin. Four buckets later and she let go of his head, chuckling as it dropped, his chin bouncing off his chest. She found it amusing enough that she lifted and dropped it again twice more, setting off another round of throbbing in his head.

"I think tomorrow's the day," she told her husband.

"I believe you're right." He put his fingers against Don's throat, checking his pulse. "Heartbeat's pretty rapid, but he should make it through tonight okay. We'll leave early tomorrow to make sure he's still lucid enough to enjoy the festivities."

Don heard them retreating back through the woods, leaving him alone in the cold darkness. His shivering seemed to be easing off, and he knew it wasn't because he wasn't cold – he was getting pretty close to the end. _Charlie, I thought you were coming to get me..._

He waited for an answer but heard only the sounds of the forest as nightfall descended. _Charlie?_ He managed to roll his head to the side, trying to look at the spot where his brother's vision had previously appeared. _Did you leave me?_

Receiving only silence as his answer, he let his head fall back to his chest. His heart sank and – if he'd had any left – he was certain there would be tears leaking from his eyes. _I'm sorry, Charlie,_ was his last thought before he slipped into darkness.


	12. Chapter 12

Charlie nervously chewed on a fingernail and tapped his foot as he watched Megan talk on the phone. They had spent the better part of the night tracking down Sherri Riverston. Finding her phone number and address had been easy enough, but they had been dismayed to discover that she was currently on vacation with her family. Charlie and his brother's team members had logged hours of research last night, and finally – just before six in the morning – discovered where Mrs. Riverston was vacationing. Megan was currently on the phone with Riverston, alternating between apologizing and pushing for information.

From the end of the conversation he could hear, Charlie had deduced that the woman was not happy about being called this early in the morning, and that she didn't think it was any of the FBI's business if she'd received a deed to a cabin from Jackie Reiner or not. Megan had maintained a calm, professional tone and manner up until the point that she realized that Riverston thought her friend was innocent. Megan had switched tactics then, promising her that if Reiner was located in or anywhere near the cabin and Agent Eppes was found dead, she would be spending a long time in prison. Charlie smiled at the expression on Megan's face as she jotted down some notes and hung up the phone.

"Apparently they're good friends," Megan groaned as she rolled her eyes. "But not _prison_ friends." She led Charlie into the conference room where several agents were waiting, geared up and anxious to go rescue their comrade. "Okay," she announced to them in a no-nonsense voice. "We've got the location of the cabin. As you know I've grouped you into five teams of three. We're going to all make our way to the cabin, at which time two teams will move in and three will secure the exits. I have to repeat this – we are not certain that this is where Agent Eppes is being held, but it is the most likely location." She hesitated and glanced sympathetically at Charlie before turning her focus back to the room. "But time is running out, and this is the best lead we have. Remember, securing Don is the top priority – everything else is second. Got it?" She thankfully smiled as she saw countless heads bobbing in agreement. "There will also be two ambulances and a life-saver helicopter on stand-by, so if you find him, radio in as quickly as possible. Time is of the essence." More nods and Megan felt pride in her fellow agents swell in her heart. She cast a sideways glance at Charlie and saw the same emotion on his face. "Alright guys, let's get rolling." As she was moving toward the door, Charlie stepped in her path, mouth open to speak. "I know," she cut him off as she grabbed his arm. "You're coming with us."

He whispered his thanks as he grabbed his laptop and dashed out the door after her.

--

Don's mind was so consumed by pain that he was barely aware of the two people moving beside him. He felt the ropes wrapped around his torso tighten and rub back and forth, irritating the scrapes on his back and the rope burn on his chest. He weakly moaned into the gag before being silenced with a slap across his face. He forced himself to remain quiet, trying to focus on breathing against the increased pressure around his chest. Suddenly the pressure was gone and he found himself falling to his side, grunting as he landed hard on the ground. The sudden change in position made the world start spinning and Don closed his eyes as he felt sick. He couldn't hold it back though, and began dry heaving for what seemed like an eternity, while his captors made small talk in the background. He finally managed to control his nausea, and attempted to catch his breath. He thought breathing would be easier without the ropes around him, but was distraught to find that he could still only manage small, shallow pants of air.

Part of his mind was screaming at him to get up and run, but he knew there was no way he could stand, much less run. Instead he lay there, listening to the Reiners as they moved around him, making various clicking and rustling sounds. He felt a pair of hands shove him onto his stomach, before yanking his arms behind him. At that, Don let out a piercing scream – his arms had been bound in front of him for so long, the muscles could hardly flex the other way.

"Shut up!" John growled in his ear, deliberately digging his knee into Don's lower back to emphasize his demand as he fastened a pair of plastic flexi cuffs around his wrists.

Don choked back another scream so that it came out as a quiet whimper. He felt Reiner lifting his upper body and dragging him away from the tree, dropping him onto a hard, metal frame. Don winced and fought back another wave of sickness as he brutally landed on his bound arms. He felt nylon straps being fastened over him, pinning him to the frame. He cracked his eyes open and found himself staring into Jackie's evil glare. She smirked as she gave a firm tug on the restraint across his abdomen to elicit another groan of pain. She disappeared from his line of sight, leaving him to stare up at the morning sky, pondering why it appeared to be devoid of color. A glance to either side of him confirmed that everything seemed to be duller than usual. _Why do I have a feeling it's not the sky that's making everything look so dim?_

His musings were interrupted as the frame was hoisted upward and slid along some sort of metal. The sky and trees disappeared as a roof of some sort blocked his view. He heard two slamming noises – _car doors?_ – and his world went pitch black. Two more slamming noises, muffled and farther away, and the sound of an engine starting. As it rumbled to life and began to move, the roughness of the terrain sent it jostling along the road. Don bit down on the gag as another bout of nausea and dry heaves washed over him. His head was reeling, and he was just as glad he couldn't see, certain that the world around him must be spinning at ten times the normal speed.

As he felt darkness reaching up to claim him, he made one desperate, last ditch effort to reach out for help – silently screaming the name of the one person that he thought might still be able to save him: _Charlie!_

--

Six agents stealthily approached the cabin, eyes and ears open for any signs of Don or his captors. Megan and her team were approaching from the front and left; David's from the rear and right. Charlie was safely ensconced behind a stand of trees, close enough that he could dart into the cabin at a moment's notice, but far enough to be out of harm's way. The other three teams were keeping an eye on the main road a few hundred yards away from the cabin.

Megan and David reached the front and back doors at the same time and – on Megan's signal – stormed inside, quickly clearing the two room dwelling. Megan radioed to Charlie to come inside, and moments later he appeared, his eyes instantly scanning the main room for clues.

"Check around the perimeter," Megan ordered David and the other agents on her team. She glanced around the room, her eyes landing on a dining table covered with papers. She moved closer and donned a pair of latex gloves as she thumbed through them. There were mostly newspapers mixed with a few hiking pamphlets handed out by the Forestry Service – How to Camp in the Cold, How to Avoid Dehydration, and a list of local forest fire advisories. _Just like any camper might have,_ she mused. Maybe they weren't onto something after all.

"Megan!" Charlie's excited voice called to her from across the room. She walked over to him, looking at a newspaper he was pointing out – 'Fires in Frazier Park Rage Out of Control'. Next to it, there was a map of Frazier Park, with certain areas circled in red. "It looks like they were trying to map out the exact location of the fire."

"Yes," she agreed. "Frazier Park is what, about an hour and a half from here?"

Charlie nodded. "I don't see why they would be tracking the fires so closely." He looked expectantly at Megan.

"Unless they were planning on going there," she finished.

"Megan!" David's alarmed voice called over her radio.

"Go ahead."

"We found something out back. Better come take a look."

Megan and Charlie exited the cabin, crossing through the woods in the back to the David's location. As they grew nearer she heard Charlie gasp, "No!"

The other agents were gathered around a large tree, staring in shock at the bloody mess around it. There were several coils of rope stained rusty brown with what looked like dried blood, and more of the stain coating the lower part of the trunk. There was also a small pool of blood in the dirt next to the tree. Megan's shocked mind began conjuring up images of what might have happened here, and she quickly forced them away so she could better focus on the evidence. She knelt and bent closer to examine the trunk. She saw a few dark hairs and blood dried at eye level, just where Don's head would have been if he'd been sitting.

"Th- that's a lot of blood..." Charlie's faint voice spoke behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, having forgotten for a moment that Charlie was with them. She gestured at David to call in a crime scene team while she went to Charlie's side.

"I know it looks like a lot of blood-"

"It is a lot of blood," he insisted. "Too much, especially if he's dehydrated."

_Crap,_ she thought. _He had seen those pamphlets, too._ "We're getting closer, though. We know we're on the right track." She placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "We _will_ find him, Charlie. I promise."

He looked met her gaze and saw the conviction in her eyes. "I know you will," he whispered. "But will it be soon enough?"

She had no answer for that, and they stood in an awkward silence until an agent called to them. "I found tire tracks!"

She and David trotted to the agent's side, and studied the impressions in the dirt. "Large tires," she observed out loud. "Wide base, off-road pattern." She looked up at David. "A van or an SUV?"

He nodded. "But there's no such vehicle registered to the Reiners," he reminded her. "Stolen?"

"Could be. That's going to be hard to track down, though."

"California City," Charlie chimed in. As the two agents looked up questioningly, he continued, "The Reiners went through all the trouble to frame Davies. They probably doubted we'd ever make it this far, but – in case we did – they would want this evidence to point to him as well."

Megan smiled. "I think you're right. David, call up the locals there and ask about any stolen vehicles."

"On it," David answered as he started dialing.

"Where do you think they went?" Megan asked the young professor. "The fires?"

"It makes sense. That's a good place to get rid of evidence and a bod-" he stopped short and his face drained of color. He couldn't believe he'd just spoken about Don like that. He felt Megan's hand on his back, rubbing small circles.

"I think that's where we should look," she spoke quietly. She was beginning to think that they were too late and quickly forced positive thought into her head – for Charlie's sake.

"There was a blue Econoline van reported stolen at a used car lot," David informed them triumphantly. "I've got the plate number and I've put out a BOLO to all local agencies within one hundred miles."

"Good job." Megan returned to the cabin as she radioed down to the three teams watching the main road. "Granger?"

"Yeah," he answered.

"We think they've taken Don to Frazier Park, in the vicinity of the forest fires. You and the other two teams start heading that way, and take the ambulances with you. David, Charlie, and I will be right behind you." She picked up the map. "We'll be calling ahead with directions as soon as we can narrow anything down." She handed the map to Charlie as the three of them ran to her SUV. "See what you come up with," she told him as she gunned the engine and raced to the main road.

--

Don moaned as the vehicle came to a sudden stop, jarring him roughly against his restraints. He heard car doors slamming and then doors opening as light flooded around him. He was slid back across the metal surface, and dropped onto the ground. He opened his eyes, and squinted against the sun overhead. He saw the outlines of the two Reiners as they worked around him. He felt one of them removing the straps holding him to the frame, and heard John's voice as he instructed his wife, "Make sure you've got the equipment." His hands were freed of the restraints, only to be bound again in front of him.

His world spun wildly as he was lifted up and hoisted over John's shoulder in a fireman's carry. He closed his eyes, fighting the ever-present nausea, as Reiner began carrying him away from the road, Jackie trailing behind him. He clenched his eyes shut and tried to focus on anything other than the constant jostling and shooting pains in his body. The only other thought that came to mind was that they were preparing him for the 'coup de grace' as promised a few days ago. He would have given anything to slip into darkness and escape his situation, but the pain and the last stores of adrenaline in his body wouldn't even allow him that small comfort.

Eventually Reiner's pace slowed and he unceremoniously dropped Don into a boneless heap on the ground. He bent over and lifted him to an upright position, slamming his injured back against a tree. _Not again,_ Don groaned inwardly. His fears were confirmed as Jackie and John set about wrapping the coils of rope around his body, making sure to tug them tight and chuckling as he winced in pain. The constriction around his chest was uncomfortable, but his breathing was not adversely affected as he had long ago ceased being able to take anything more than shallow puffs of air. As they worked, he became aware of something new – a smell of some sort. He concentrated as it tickled under his nose, trying to figure out what it was. He weakly tried to lift his head to see, but his head was too heavy. _What was that smell?_ It wasn't something unpleasant necessarily – just _familiar_. His thoughts were interrupted as someone grabbed his hair and yanked his head up.

"Hey, Donny-boy – you still with us?" John's smiling face was pressed close to his. Seeing the agent's open and somewhat lucid eyes, he smiled. "Oh good. I was afraid you had checked out early." He smiled at Jackie who knelt next to him, staring hatefully at Don. "It's time for you to pay for what you did to us – destroying our family and reputation, making my wife live in squalor for a year. It's time for you to die Agent Eppes." He wrenched Don's head to the side and both Reiners savored the look of panic on his face.

Don knew what that smell was now – a fire. A very large fire. _A forest fire maybe? Oh God, that's not how I want to die – slowly burned to death._ He slid his eyes to the side to rest on his captors, looking for any signs of mercy or humanity in them. He saw only hatred in their soulless stares.

"Like I said before, we won't be able to watch you die, but that look of fear was enough for me." Reiner released his grip on Don's hair, watching as his head sagged back onto his chest. He ruffled the agent's hair once more as Jackie piled all of the evidence – Don's shirt, wallet, ID, everything – next to the agent to be incinerated along with him in the approaching inferno. "It's been fun, Eppes. I'll enjoy this memory for many years to come. You take care now."

Don heard the two leave and desperately tried to summon enough strength to work on the restraints. He had none left though, and only succeeded in making himself short of breath. As he sagged in his bonds panting, he heard the telltale popping of burning wood as the heat intensified. The smell grew stronger, and he found himself coughing as the smoke drifted closer. The strain was too much for him in his weakened state, and he felt his vision graying and his senses dulling as he fought for oxygen.

Certain he was dying, he though first of his father, and then of Charlie. _I know you tried, Charlie. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to make it._ With that last thought, he slipped into a darkness where he was no longer in pain, could no longer feel the heat of the flames as they crept closer to his body.


	13. Chapter 13

"We've got the van!" Colby's shout came over the radio.

Megan had done some expert driving on the rugged roads so they caught up with Colby and the others as his voice came over the radio. "Right behind you," she told him as she and David and Charlie exited the SUV. They peered through the open doors in the back of the van, frowning as they found it empty. Megan spotted a dolly lying on the ground, with nylon straps fastened onto it. "Look." She bent down and saw traces of blood on the metal frame. She dabbed a finger at it and realized it was still wet. "It's not dried. They haven't been gone too long. Is this on the map, Charlie?"

Charlie looked around, trying to look for a landmark to orient himself. He found one and scrutinized the map. "Yes," he mumbled as he scanned over the area. He looked up to the left of the van. "Over there."

Colby followed his direction and studied the ground. "I've got footprints!" He knelt and examined them more closely. "Okay, it's been a long time since Scouts, but I'm guessing a man and a woman, and judging by the man's tracks, he's walking unsteadily and carrying a lot of extra weight."

"Don," Charlie whispered hopefully.

"Okay, everyone listen up!" Megan called to the people around her. She glanced up and saw thick, black smoke floating across the sky. She could hear the fire and knew they were in a dangerous area. "I know this is a bad situation, but we can be certain Don is in there somewhere. I can't force you to, but I need volunteers to go in and search." She beamed as everyone present raised his hand. "I appreciate it you guys." She pointed to three agents and spoke to them. "I need someone to stay behind with Charlie and the paramedics, in case the Reiners come out armed and try to get away." They nodded, disappointed not to be looking, but knowing their job was important as well. "Everyone else split into teams of two. We're going to follow these tracks as long as possible, and then split up to search. Use the buddy system, people – I don't want to lose anyone because they got turned around in the woods or overcome from the smoke."

She gestured at Colby to go, and followed him as he looked for more tracks. She felt the other agents behind her and felt her hopes rising. Maybe they _would _be able to find him in time.

--

"Jackie!" John cried out in alarm as his wife tripped on a large root and fell down a short drop off. He ran to the edge and saw her lying on her back, clutching her knee to her chest. "Are you okay?" She didn't answer, but kept grimacing in pain. "I'm coming down!" He looked for an easy way down, but couldn't find one. He lowered himself to the edge of the drop off and slid down until he was hanging by his arms. He took a deep breath and let go, wincing as he landed on his ankle. He ignored the throbbing and rushed to his wife's side. "Jackie!"

"I think I messed up my knee," she whispered.

"That's okay," he soothed her. "I'll carry you."

"I lost the map and the compass, too."

Those words sent a shiver of fear down his spine. He frantically scoured their surroundings, searching for any sign of the two items. They needed those to find their way out of the woods. "Hang on," he told her as he kept looking. Five minutes later and he was still empty-handed. He moved back to Jackie's side and picked her up in his arms. "Just relax," he whispered. "I'll get us out of here."

Reiner looked up and knew there was no way they could go out the way they came, so he began moving in what he hoped was the same general direction. His ankle screamed at him with each step, but he ignored it as he blindly stumbled forward. The smoke seemed to be growing thicker and the heat was starting to make him sweat. John wondered if the fire had changed directions or if he had gone the wrong way. Suddenly he was falling, the ground having disappeared beneath his feet. He landed painfully on his back, crying out as Jackie rolled from his arms. He tried to get up to go after her, but froze at the intense pain in his back. Reiner looked down at his legs and tried to flex them but it was no use – he couldn't move them. He tried calling to Jackie, but received no answer. Then he noticed the blood running from a gash in her head. He collapsed back onto the ground and saw smoke getting thicker overhead. The injured man could only watch as it drifted closer and closer, helpless to do anything but cough as it invaded his lungs.

He was sad that he and Jackie wouldn't make it out of this, but he took comfort – and knew Jackie would have, as well – in the fact that Agent Don Eppes had died, too.

--

"They're gone," Colby told Megan, his voice muffled by the bandana he had tied around his nose and mouth to filter out the smoke. "We need to split up." Megan signaled the others to fan out and sweep the area. She stayed with Colby and let him take the lead, hoping his army instincts might be an advantage. He rounded a knoll and reached back halting her movements. "There!"

She stepped around him and felt overwhelming emotions course through her body. There – no more than ten feet in front of them – was Don, bound to a tree, his head sagging against his chest. She radioed the news to the other agents as she and Colby sprinted to his side. Colby bent down, took out his pocket knife and started sawing at the ropes binding him to the tree. "Don?" Megan pleaded, reaching a trembling hand out to his neck to check for a pulse. She didn't feel one, and hoped that it was just too faint for her to detect. Dead or alive, they would be bringing him out of here. Colby finally got through the ropes and without hesitation scooped Don up onto his shoulders. "Let's go!" he yelled over the noise of the fire.

Megan led the way, constantly checking back over her shoulder to make sure Colby was doing okay. They finally hit the road a few yards away from the ambulance and FBI vehicles. "Down here!" she yelled to the paramedics.

They looked at her and jogged toward her with a stretcher rolling next to them. Colby gently laid Don on it and used his knife to cut the flexi cuffs off of Don's hands. One medic inserted an IV while the other put an oxygen mask on Don's face and started charting his vitals. Now that they were out of the woods and in full daylight, Megan could really take in Don's appearance. He was filthy, his skin was dry and tight looking, and he had obviously lost quite a bit of weight. His chest was bright red where he had struggled against the ropes and, although he was laying on his back now, Megan had seen the bloody scrapes that covered it when Colby had picked him up. The most frightening part of his appearance was his complete and utter stillness – even his chest didn't appear to be moving, although Megan could see his faint breath fogging the oxygen mask. She couldn't ever remember him being so still.

A sudden, shocked gasp from beside her reminded her that Charlie was there with them. "Don," he whispered sadly. She put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a gentle hug. "He's alive, Charlie. We got him in time."

Charlie nodded but didn't trust himself to speak. Don looked so lifeless lying there on the stretcher, his head lolled to the side. Even when one of the medics unintentionally did something that should have caused him pain, he didn't stir. Charlie wanted so badly to reach out and hug his brother – to let him know that he was there – but he was afraid of getting in the medics' way. Soon, Don was strapped onto the stretcher and being whisked back to the ambulance.

"He's riding with you!" Megan called after them as she gently shoved Charlie in the direction of the ambulance.

"Okay, but hurry up!"

Charlie climbed into the unit and sat next to Don, staring at him in shock. They had found him and he was still alive – for that, he was thankful. But Don looked like he'd been through hell – suffering right up to the brink of death before being found. His heart broke as he thought about how much his brother must have endured before being tossed out like garbage into the fire. His attention shifted and he watched the medic as he monitored Don's vitals. Once he had a feel for where the medic would be working, Charlie slipped his hand into Don's limp one and lightly squeezed, bending over until he was next to Don's ear. "I'm here," he whispered. "We got you. Just hang on, okay?" Don didn't respond and Charlie felt the tears that had been forming in his eyes slowly trek down his face. "Please, Don."

Charlie reached up with his other hand and swiped at the tears on his cheeks. He watched as the medic tended to Don, soothed by the gentle ease with which he performed his job. Charlie began to feel a little bit useless, and asked the man, "Is there something I can do to help?"

The paramedic looked up and saw the need in Charlie's eyes. He smiled and handed him a moistened cloth. "See all that soot on his face? Wash it off with this, but make sure you avoid the red patches on his nose and forehead. Burns get infected pretty easily, so we'll leave those for the doctor." Charlie eagerly took the wipe and began gently wiping off the dirt on Don's cheeks. "Keep talking to him, too. You'd be surprised how much that helps."

Charlie nodded and began quietly rambling about the latest breakthrough on his Cognitive Emergence Theory, all the while tenderly brushing the cloth over Don's face.

--

_Funny – he wasn't that hot considering he was being burned alive. Maybe he was already dead? No, that couldn't be – he was still in pain. You couldn't be on pain when you were dead, could you? _He quieted his thoughts and listened carefully._ A voice? No – voices. Two of them? One of them was very familiar._

"... here. We... you." _Why was that voice so familiar?_ "Please, Don." _Charlie? Was that really Charlie's voice? If only he could open his eyes and check – but you couldn't open your eyes when you were dead._ He listened carefully and concentrated. That voice was still talking, but he couldn't understand any of the words it was speaking.

_Wait, there was something else. A feeling – a touch on his cheek? Soft and cool, steady strokes all around his face. Very soothing. They seemed to be moving in time with that voice. That had to be Charlie. If only he could call out to him._

Don tried to draw a deep breath but it was futile. Drawing in enough oxygen to breathe was hard enough – forget talking. _I could try to whisper._ He attempted to move his lips to form the sounds, but his body refused to obey. The frustration filled his heart and he felt despair creeping in once more – _maybe he really was dead?_ But then that voice was speaking to him again...

--

"Shh, Don," Charlie crooned in his brother's ear. "You're okay. I'm right here with you. You're not dead or dying – you're safe now." He felt a small smile cross his face. He'd been droning on about his research when he'd seen Don's eyelids twitch. It had only been a slight movement, but it had been enough to instill hope in Charlie's heart. "Just rest. I'll be right here with you the whole time." Don made no noticeable response, and yet Charlie knew that he'd heard him. He went back to talking about his work and maintaining a gentle, even rhythm with the cloth for the rest of the ride to the hospital.


	14. Chapter 14

"Charlie!"

He looked up to see his father running toward him. "Dad!" He stood and found himself enveloped in a powerful hug. The emotions of the past few days caught up with him and he leaned his head on Alan's shoulder. "I'm so glad you're here," he whispered sadly.

"How's Don?" Alan asked as he continued to embrace his son.

"They're still checking him over." Charlie felt his father guide him to sit, and leaned into Alan as he sat in the chair next to him. "I hope they come back soon."

Alan rubbed Charlie's shoulder, happy that he had at least one of his sons in his presence. He looked at Megan. "Did you find the people responsible for this?"

She slowly shook her head. "No, but we've got agents sweeping the forest, and more agents watching their van. We'll get them when they show up."

"It won't be soon enough," he growled, returning his full attention to Charlie. "How was he in the ambulance?"

"He moved," Charlie replied. "I mean, I was talking to him and he moved – I think he was reacting to my voice. Bob – the paramedic – said that talking would help." Charlie managed a large grin. "Don knows everything that I do now, about Cognitive Emergence Theory."

"Now there's a reason to live," Alan playfully joked, trying to keep the worry from eating him alive. He continued rubbing Charlie's shoulder as the threesome waited for the doctor.

About thirty minutes later, a tall, silver-haired man emerged from behind the emergency room doors. He walked straight to the Eppes with a smile on his face. Alan and Charlie scrambled out of their chairs to meet him, while Megan hovered discreetly in the background.

"Mr. Eppes?" he spoke to Alan. Alan nodded so he turned his eyes to the younger man. "Charlie?" Another nod. "Don mumbled your name a couple of times during the course of my examination. I'm glad to put a face with the name."

"He's awake?" Charlie eagerly asked.

"Not yet. He was drifting in and out of semi-consciousness, but he was calling for you." He turned back to Alan. "I'm Doctor Mitchell. I've been examining Agent Eppes. Would you to please come to my office with me?" At their alarmed looks he quickly shook his head. "No, no – he's going to be fine. I just want to go over his condition and treatment with you." He led the relieved men to his office, while Megan remained behind, wanting to give the family some privacy.

Mitchell led them into a large, nicely furnished office and gestured for them to have a seat in two comfortable leather chairs. He sat across from them, behind a large desk covered with pictures of two young, smiling girls. "My daughters," he explained. "I'm a father, too, Mr. Eppes, so I can appreciate what you're feeling right now. I just want to start by saying that I expect your son to make a complete recovery, but it is going to take a little time." He opened a chart and flipped through the pages. "Let's start with his condition. The most critical concern was the extent to which Agent Eppes-"

"Don," Charlie corrected him.

Mitchell smiled and nodded. "Was the extent to which Don was dehydrated. He hadn't had fluids in at least thirty-six hours, if not longer. We've already started him on an IV and as soon as he's awake and lucid we'll start him on an oral rehydration treatment." At the confused looks on the two men's faces, he clarified, "Basically we'll have him drinking a Gatorade-like substance until he's ready to float away. Our patients tend to get tired of drinking so much, especially when they're as fatigued as Don is, so that's where we like for the family members to be a factor. Encourage him to keep drinking, and be stern about it if you need to."

"I can certainly do that," Alan assured him.

"I don't doubt it for a minute," Mitchell smiled warmly. "Don was also severely malnourished so we'll need to get his nutrient levels back up to where they should be. We can use feeding supplements via a nasogastric tube, but I hate to do that to any patient who is awake because it isn't a very comfortable experience. We'll start slow with some adult dietary supplements, and progress to liquids and soft foods as he starts to regain his strength. He's suffering from rather severe nausea – a by-product of the dehydration – and we've given him some medication to ease that, but I doubt he'll have much of an appetite. Again, this is where we like for the family members to get involved – encouragement and support – I can't emphasize that enough."

"Trust me, he'll have so much that he'll be begging you to put him into protective custody."

Mitchell laughed at Alan's words. He had a feeling Agent Eppes was going to be just fine. "Don also shows signs of mild hypothermia – another factor contributing to his fatigued state." He flipped to another page in the chart. "The last thing I'd like to talk to you about is the burns and abrasions on his body. He does have first degree burns on his forehead, nose, and shoulders – all areas I assume were the most exposed to the fire – in addition to the rope burns on his chest and abdomen. None of these are severe enough to cause scarring, but with all burns the most important thing is to keep them clean and sterile because infection can set in very easily. During Don's stay with us, I'm going to let the nurses handle this part of his treatment, but they will show you how to treat them when Don is released into your care. I am correct in assuming he'll be staying with one of you when he's released?"

"Yes," the two men spoke in unison.

"Good. The abrasions on his back are superficial for the most part, although there are a couple of places that were deep enough and dirty enough that a minor infection had set in. We do have him on antibiotics for that, and they seem to be working already. He may be a little feverish at times – especially at night – but it should remain a low grade fever. Mildly uncomfortable, but by no means life threatening." He flipped the chart shut and placed his elbows on top, leaning across his desk. "That covers Don's injuries and what you can expect in the way of treatment. The last and most important point I would like to make is that Don is suffering from exhaustion. That's certainly no surprise given all that he's been through, but I don't want you to be alarmed by how tired he is going to be. Lifting a hand or even rolling over in bed may very well be too much for him until he starts getting some fluids and nutrition in him. My nurses are always available, but I'd like for at least one of you to be here at all times, too."

"Not a problem," Charlie promised him.

"I didn't think it would be. Don needs to be treated as if he were glass. No straining on his part for any reason whatsoever. He needs to be waited on hand and foot. No exertion – that's very important to his recovery. The slightest overtaxing of his body could throw him into a relapse, and be a major setback to his recovery."

"We understand," Alan replied. "We're happy to do whatever we can to help him. I just want him healthy again."

"Me, too," Charlie agreed.

Doctor Mitchell sat back in his chair and clapped his hands together. "I don't think Don could ask for better familial support." He stood and gestured to the door. "I can take you to see him now, if you'd like."

--

Alan and Charlie quietly entered Don's hospital room. He was lying in the bed on his right side, his bare back to the door. They could both see the abrasions covering his back, and a couple of spots were swollen and red. They maneuvered around the foot of the bed so that they stood in front of Don.

He had three pillows piled under his head and the bed was elevated so that there was no strain on his neck as he lay on his side. There was no oxygen mask on his face, and Charlie saw the burns in even more detail than he'd been able to in the ambulance. They were bright red, but didn't look much worse than a sunburn. _Of course they weren't caused by anything as innocent as a day at the lake or beach,_ Charlie thought to himself.

His studious gaze drifted downward to Don's chest, and he cringed at the angry red rope burn tracing back and forth across it. The thought of his brother being tied up that tightly for so long and being deprived of such basic things as food and water made his blood boil. _I hope the bastards rot in hell,_ he thought. He didn't realize he'd spoken aloud until he heard his father answer him.

"Even that's too good for them," Alan hissed quietly. He too, was studying Don's appearance, quickly learning what pure, unadulterated hatred felt like. He took a deep, calming breath and stepped away from the bedside long enough to grab a chair. He set it as close to the bed as he could and sat down, reaching out and letting his hands hover over Don's arms, which were bent at the elbow with his forearms extending away from his body, his fingertips hanging just over the edge of the mattress. Alan gently slid his hand between Don's and curled his fingers around his son's left hand in a gentle grip. He checked Don's forearms for burns or other injuries and finding none, brought his right hand up to gently stroke his arm.

Charlie stood mesmerized, content in watching the interaction between his father and brother. After a few moments he felt his own anger die down and he also pulled up a chair. He placed a hand on Don's hip and laid his head on the bed. He could just hear Don's even breaths and thought it was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.

"I'll take the first watch, Charlie," Alan whispered to him. "You've done so much for Don. It's your turn to rest now."

Charlie sighed contentedly. Don was alive and back with his family. For the first time in days, Charlie drifted off to a peaceful sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

Don slowly drifted upwards from the darkness in which he'd been residing. He realized that he was no longer in pain, but was feeling pleasantly fuzzy. He had a suspicion that the pain wasn't gone, and would quickly return if that fuzzy feeling went away. Don felt something cool and soft beneath his head – actually beneath his whole body – and his foggy mind began to drawing conclusions. _I must be in a bed, and there's something dulling the pain. A hospital? _He tried to drag an eye open to check his hypothesis but that seemed to be an insurmountable task. He let out a moan – actually a loud exhalation of breath – at the attempt.

"Donny?"

_Dad? Was that really Dad's voice?_ He became aware of a light pressure on his forearm, moving back and forth in a soothing manner. He had to know for sure. He gathered up every last bit of strength and managed to crack his eyes open to mere slits. He saw a blurry blob in front of him and assumed that must be his father.

"Easy, Donny," Alan soothed and Don felt his hand being lightly squeezed. "Don't force anything, okay? Just keep resting. Charlie and I aren't going anywhere."

_Charlie was here, too? Of course he would be._ Don felt an overwhelming need to see his brother. He didn't have enough energy to speak, but he tried to form the syllables with his lips. He didn't think he'd come anywhere close, but somehow his father knew.

"Charlie's that weight by your knee," Alan told him. "He's worn himself out looking for you. He never gave up, Don – not once." Don heard shifting noises and his father's voice calling to his brother. "Charlie! Charlie, wake up!"

"Five more minutes," Charlie's sleepy voice protested. Don felt the bed beside his knee move as Charlie tried to sink back into sleep.

"Ahem," Alan loudly cleared his throat. "_Someone _wants to see you."

Don felt the whole bed shake as he heard Charlie's voice, "Don!"

He saw the blob that was his father step away from the bed to be replaced with a smaller, Charlie-shaped blob. "Don?" the blurry shape called excitedly.

Don wanted so badly to answer, but he was just too tired. He settled for trying to smile. He heard Charlie chuckle and figured he must have at least gotten a half-smile on his face. He felt fingertips on his cheek and then a feather-light stroking along his jaw.

"I was scared to death," Charlie whispered somberly. "I was afraid..." Don heard a sniff, and then a short laugh. "Well, we can talk about that later. The important thing is that you're back with us – back in our clutches so we can hover and smother you with love."

Don heard the teasing tone in his brother's voice and felt some previously unknown tension leave his body. As much as he hated to be waited on, he had a feeling he was going to have a new found appreciation for it this time. He let his eyes slide shut again, concentrating on the gentle stroking of his jaw.

"That's right, Don," Charlie whispered softly. "Go back to sleep. We'll be here when you wake up."

--

The next time he woke up the fuzzy feeling had faded and the pain was lingering in the background, threatening to return in full force. He summoned up enough energy to drag his eyes open, his lips twitching in a ghost of a smile at the Charlie-shaped blob in front of him. His vision had become a little clearer because he could now make out a head full of curls on the blurry figure. Charlie was oblivious to the fact that his brother was awake, too engrossed in perusing a large textbook to notice. Don was content to simply gaze at his brother, reveling in the fact that he was safe and back with his family. His vision was becoming clearer the longer he had his eyes open, and he trailed his gaze from Charlie's face, to the book in his lap, along the arm extended onto the bed, and finally to the hand that was resting on top of his own.

As much as Don was savoring the moment of quiet observation, the pain was beginning to creep closer. He debated whether he should try to speak or try to move his hand under Charlie's – both seemed impossible in his current weakened state – but he opted to try moving his hand. He tried to send that tiny nerve impulse from his brain down the length of his arm, becoming frustrated when he failed. Apparently the strain of the effort and the frustration combined to increase his breathing rate – which Charlie immediately noticed.

"Don!" he called in excitement, smiling and leaning closer, taking in the sight of the tired brown eyes. His smile faded as he noticed the pinched look around his brother's eyes, and the sweat along his hairline."Are you in pain?" He gently placed a hand on Don's forehead, letting it linger for a few seconds before brushing back through the dark hair. Don was too tired to answer, but Charlie saw the distress in Don's gaze. He quickly paged the nurse before turning his attention back to the man on the bed. "Oh, Don," he whispered sadly. "I'm sorry I didn't notice sooner. Hang on, okay?" He continued stroking Don's hair, taking comfort in the fact that the pain lines seemed to be easing up a bit.

Don wanted to tell Charlie that this wasn't his fault, but knew that would have to wait until later when he had his strength back. _I wonder when that will be? _he thought bitterly, hating the ever-present feeling of weakness. A wave of frustration threatened to wash over him, but he quickly suppressed it, focusing on Charlie's voice and ministrations instead.

The emotions that had flashed across Don's face were not lost on Charlie. "Shh," he whispered. "Relax. Your only job is to rest and get better. You let me and Dad do all the work – that includes worrying, alright?" He realized his gentle touch was having a calming effect on his brother, so he slid his hand down to cup Don's cheek, lightly stroking his thumb back and forth across it.

Don heard the door open behind him and saw Charlie look up and speak to the person who had entered the room. "He's in pain."

"We can't have that," a friendly female voice responded as a small hand rested on Don's shoulder. "I'm going to get you something for that, Agent Eppes." He heard rummaging noises and then the sound of plastic being torn open. Charlie stepped out of the way and a pretty, young blond woman took his place. She bent over and injected something into his IV, before gently rubbing his hand. "There," she smiled. "You should be feeling better soon." She looked up – he assumed at Charlie – and informed him, "Give it about ten minutes and call me if he's still in pain." She flashed another smile at Don before leaving the room and shutting the door behind her.

Don closed his eyes and waited for the drug to take effect. Charlie sat next to the bed again, and resumed his gentle caresses, smiling as Don sighed and relaxed under his touch. He was enjoying this immensely – being able to touch his brother and show his affection, without having Don groan and protest that 'real men' didn't do this. In fact, Don seemed to be relishing these moments as well. Charlie noticed Don's breathing beginning to even out. He leaned over and whispered, "Go to sleep, Don. You'll feel better when you wake up." He obeyed, letting Charlie's words carry him away to a peaceful slumber.

--

When he awoke again, the fuzzy feeling was gone, but so was the pain. _Must be getting better,_ he thought. His opened his eyes, thrilled that it no longer seemed to be a Herculean effort. He was still positioned on his side facing the chair by his bed – now occupied by his father. Alan was slouched in it, reading glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose, and a newspaper balanced on his knee. He was working a puzzle – _probably sudoku,_ Don mused – with one hand while the other hand rested on top of Don's. He found himself smiling at the reassuring contact – both Alan and Charlie seemed to need to stay in constant contact with him, which suited him just fine – he needed it every bit as much as they did right now.

He drew in a breath and opened his mouth to speak. "Dad," his hoarse voice cracked, the one syllable barely audible.

"Donny!" Alan beamed, setting the paper aside and leaning forward, gently squeezing his son's hand "It's good to see you awake."

Don gave his father's hand a weak squeeze in acknowledgment as he tried to answer. "Good..." his voice cracked and gave out. _So much for talking._

"Shh," Alan soothed. "Don't force it." He reached for something out of Don's line of sight, and brought his hand back, holding an insulated cup and straw in front of him. "Thirsty?" he asked, lightly pressing the straw to his son's mouth. Don parted his lips and his father gently eased the straw between them, reminding him, "Slowly, Don. And not too much – you haven't had anything in a while."

Don closed his mouth around the straw and drew in a tiny amount of liquid, his face dissolving into a frown. _That's not water, _he thought as he swallowed the cool liquid.

Alan winced at his son's grimace. "I'm sorry, Don, I should have warned you. It's not water, it's Equalyte – citrus flavored.

_Citrus?_ Don wondered silently. _On what planet?_

His father read his expression perfectly. "Okay, the _label_ says citrus flavored." He waited, expecting Don to drink more, disappointed when he didn't. "I know it's not the best tasting stuff, but you really need to drink more if you can."

Don reluctantly took another small swallow and then blinked at his father, who removed the straw and placed the cup back out of sight. Don licked his lips, savoring the moisture that had been missing for so long. "Thanks," he whispered.

"My pleasure," his father assured him, subtly wiping a trickle of liquid from the corner of his son's mouth. "Feel better?"

Don managed a weak nod. "Much."

"As much as I love hearing your voice again, you really should try to stay quiet. Your only job is to rest and get better." He chuckled as his father unknowingly parroted what his brother had said earlier. That reminded him...

"Charlie?" he croaked.

"He's grabbing a bite to eat. Larry and Amita came by and made him go out to lunch." Alan returned his hand to rest on top of Don's "He hasn't left the hospital in the two days that you've been here. We've both been so glad to have you back that we don't want to leave – even for a second." He reached his other hand out and brushed it through Don's hair.

"'m glad, too," Don mumbled sleepily as he closed his eyes. He drifted back to sleep, feeling safe in the knowledge that his family would be nearby for as long as he needed them.

--

"Just a little bit more."

"No, Charlie," Don's raspy voice protested. "I've had enough."

Charlie sighed in exasperation. "You're supposed to drink a quart and a half of this stuff every day. It's still over halfway full and you only have an hour left until bedtime."

"Look," Don pleaded. "Between that disgusting stuff and those nutritional drinks, I just don't have any room left. I'm full." Don rolled his eyes as Charlie fixed him with a stern look. "What? Are you trying to be Dad or something?"

"Be me?" Alan asked as he entered the hospital room. "How so?"

"Don won't finish the Equalyte," Charlie tattled.

"I see," Alan said thoughtfully as he sat next to Don's bed. "You know you need to, Don."

"I'm serious, Dad," Don weakly argued. "There's no room left. I'll be sick."

He studied his oldest son carefully. He had steadily improved over the past few days, regaining his strength bit by bit. Less than forty-eight hours ago, he had gotten enough strength back so that he could sit propped up in bed for extended times without fear of overexerting himself. The burns on his face were starting to heal, fading from bright red to a faint pink. The abrasions on his back had begun healing as well, and the infection responsible for his fever had been completely eliminated. The rope burns were the most noticeable injury on his body, but they too were slowly healing, as evidenced by Don's surreptitious scratching. Alan had admonished him the first couple of times he'd caught him, but had given up as Don went to unbelievable means to attempt to hide the scratching.

He had only one major concern remaining and that was the fact that Don had yet to truly start gaining weight. He was still many pounds lighter than he had been before his capture, and Alan couldn't get the image of Don wasting away out of his head. He knew Don didn't have much of an appetite and knew that the rehydration solutions tasted horrendous – having tried one on a dare to convince Don to finish his first one. Alan was at a loss for what to say to get Don to understand the importance of following the treatment guidelines. He sighed and looked at Charlie. "Can you give us a moment, please?"

Charlie looked somewhat wounded, but nodded and left the room. Alan turned to Don, who lowered his head to avoid his father's eyes. "Don," Alan began softly. He took a deep breath and slowly blew it out. "Honestly, I don't know what to say to you." Don lifted his gaze from his lap to Alan's face. "I – we – were so worried about you for the longest time. And now we have you back, and you're well on your way to recovery, but I still find myself worrying about you."

"I'm sorry, Dad." Don hands fidgeted in his lap. "All that liquid junk makes me feel sick. And those liquid diet supplements are horrible. I try to drink them all – I really do – but my stomach gets full so quickly, and I know it'll come back up if I drink any more."

Alan reached out and rested a hand on Don's knee. "I know, Don. It kills me to see you in any form of discomfort, but this is absolutely necessary for you to get back to your old self. I know you want to get out of here and come home to Charlie's, and I know you're dying to get back to work. You understand that those things can't happen until you get past this last obstacle, right?"

Don studied his hands as he mulled over his father's words. He knew Alan was right, but he couldn't seem to make his body listen. Every time he saw or smelled one of those supplements, his stomach churned, and he had to choke back a gag. But it wasn't fair to let his family suffer any more after everything they'd been through, and he _did_ want to get out of the hospital and back to work. He closed his eyes for a moment and then looked up into his father's stare. "I'll try," he whispered, holding out his hand for the bottle of Equalyte.

Alan handed it to him and soothingly rubbed Don's free hand as he watched him finish the contents. Don frowned as he handed the empty bottle to his father. "Thank you," Alan said. He smiled at Don. "Maybe we can see about adding some soup to your diet tomorrow. Might be a nice change of pace."

"That would be nice," Don agreed. He hesitated. "I'm sorry that I'm being so difficult. I just..." He flapped a hand in the air as he searched for the right word.

"Donny, listen to me. You have nothing to apologize for. Your brother and I just want you to get better. And if that means we have to push, then we'll push." His heart swelled as Don chuckled at his words.

"As hard as you need to?"

Alan nodded, his expression one of fatherly love. "As hard as we need to."


	16. Epilogue

A few days later Alan and Charlie were helping Don – now ten pounds heavier since his talk with Alan – through the door into Charlie's living room. Alan helped Don settle in on the couch while Charlie brought his brother's suitcase inside. Just as he was about to close the door, he saw Megan and Colby pull up. "Hey!" he called out in greeting.

They waved and trotted up the sidewalk. "How's Don?" Megan asked.

"He's great," Charlie grinned. "Still not up to one hundred percent, but he's getting there. You guys want to come in?"

"Yeah," Colby nodded. "We've got some important news to tell you."

Charlie let the two agents in and closed the front door behind them. He followed them into the living room where Don was excitedly talking to his team members. As Charlie stood next to the couch, Megan held up a hand to stop the jovial conversation. "We have some good news," she announced to the whole Eppes family.

"Fire fighters were working on part of the blaze up at Frazier Park, near where we found you," Colby told Don. "They came across two bodies. They were badly burned, but the medical examiner was able to extract DNA for identification." He paused to let that bit of information set in. "The lab positively identified one body as belonging to John Alexander Reiner. Thanks to the Reiners' son, the crime lab was able to perform a reverse paternity test to get an ID on the second body – Jackie Reiner."

Don sat and stared at Colby as his mind tried to process what he'd just been told. "They're dead, Don," Megan gently reiterated. "You're safe now."

Don nodded and bit his lip. He felt a sudden stirring of emotion that threatened to break through his defenses. "That's great work, guys," he told them in a surprisingly strong voice. He didn't want to ask them to leave, but that pesky emotional breakdown seemed to be hurtling toward him.

"I think Don needs to get some rest," Charlie advised the agents. They nodded and said their good-byes to Don and Alan, leaving the Eppes men alone in the house. Charlie cocked his head at his father indicating that he wanted a moment alone with his brother. Alan smiled and clapped Don on the shoulder. "I'm going to grab a shower," he told him. "I'll see you in a bit."

Charlie watched as his father disappeared up the stairs before joining Don on the couch. He propped his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers against his forehead. "Want to talk about it?"

Don shook his head. "Nothing to talk about."

"I see," Charlie mumbled. "You seem upset by that news."

Don snorted. "Why would I be upset about that? Those people put me through hell. They got what they deserved."

"I agree." Charlie turned his head and studied Don's face. "I didn't mean to imply that you were upset about that. I think maybe that news might have released some other feeling. You have been through quite an ordeal."

"And I survived," Don emphasized. He felt the previous emotion dying down again, and managed to lock it away in his mind with all the other unwanted emotions. He took a cleansing breath and calmed his mind. "I appreciate the offer, Charlie. But there's really nothing to talk about."

Charlie nodded and started to rise from the couch.

"Wait," Don's voice and the hand on Charlie's arm stopped him. He looked at Don expectantly. "I, um, don't know how to say this. Dad told me everything you did to find me. I'm more thankful for that than I can ever tell you."

"That's what brothers are for," Charlie beamed at him.

"Yeah," Don chuckled. "That's what math genius brothers are for." He paused and Charlie took a moment to really study his face. "There's something else, too."

Charlie placed his hand on Don's leg. "Go ahead," he urged.

"One of those nights – when I was really cold and out of it – I had a vision, dream, whatever. Anyway, you came to me and said that you were looking for me. You told me to hang on." Don took a moment to steady his voice. "You put your hand on my cheek and... Well, the cold seemed to disappear for just a moment." Don shook his head and laughed casually. "Crazy, huh?"

"The second night you were gone?" Charlie asked quietly.

"Yeah," Don thought aloud. "Yeah, I think that was it."

"I had a dream that night, too." Don's eyes widened in surprise. "I saw you being held captive and told you I was coming." Charlie had a look of shock on his face. "You looked cold, so I reached out and touched your face..."

The End


End file.
